


The Spellman Sister’s Home for Wayward Witches

by GrantMeGrace



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Basically everyone is hurting after part 2 and Zelda and Hilda help those kids out, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I’m cherry picking the things I liked from part 3 because YIKES that was rough, Multi, Partially a fix it partially not, Rape Reference, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrantMeGrace/pseuds/GrantMeGrace
Summary: Following Faustus Blackwood’s attack on the Church Of Night, the coven is doing its best to repair and grow under a new church. Zelda and Hilda Spellman find their hands quite full with a bunch of teenage witches.A series of one shots as the Spellman sisters try to guide and help the younger witches.
Comments: 36
Kudos: 84





	1. Family Tree - Prudence

**Author's Note:**

> New username! I was previously GrandEmpress13, now I’m GrantMeGrace.
> 
> Rape is referenced in this chapter during the hallway scene. It is in italics and can be jumped over without affecting the story.

It starts with an invitation from Hilda to dinner.

“We should invite Prudence to dinner.” She says one night over the gentle clicking of her knitting. Zelda doesn’t look up from the ancient text she’s reading, only half listening.

“Hmm?”

“I said we should have Prudence over for dinner.”

Zelda looks up now, mildly confused over her glasses which are perched low on her nose.

“Whatever would we do that for?”

Needles clack abruptly and Hilda glares dully back.

“The girl has been back for over a month and we haven’t had her over.”

“I didn’t realize we were in the habit of inviting random students to dinner now.” She turns her attention back to her text “One would think having all those students in our home for months before the Academy was livable again was enough.”

“Zelds, she’s not just some random student.” Hilda waits for Zelda’s response but when she gets none, she shrugs and goes back to her knitting. “She is your stepdaughter after all.” Hilda mutters under her breath. That gets the response she is looking for.

“Excuse me?” It’s got a sharp edge to it but Hilda doesn’t seem to care.

“Don’t play dumb with me Zelda Spellman. You heard me very well.” Zelda slams her book shut and Hilda puts her needles down. “I’m not saying we make her a Spellman right this second,” Zelda sputters at this but Hilda ignores her, “But technically she is a part of this family and I think she deserves one.”

Zelda sighs as she regards her sister. It was true that when she agreed to marry Faustus she had acknowledged and accepted that she would be gaining his children as well. That included Prudence even if her father actively tried to avoid accepting her. And she had always liked Prudence, had felt like she could mentor the girl. She found herself feeling more maternal with her as the wedding drew nearer and had even tried to encourage Faustus to give her the Blackwood name. Although in the end she suspected her husband had given the girl his name for his own self serving reasons than actually wanting her to be a member of his family.

Of course then Faustus lost his damn mind and everything went to hell. And then neither Zelda or Prudence wanted his name. 

Prudence was a smart, promising young witch. She would fare far better in their world if she had a family name. And Zelda would be a hypocrite to take in Leticia and Roland as her children and not make an effort with Prudence. It would make her no better than Faustus. The thought makes Zelda shiver.

But Prudence is also proud and independent. She likely wouldn’t come running the second they called and Zelda herself didn’t quite know how she felt about their situation so perhaps a dinner was a good place to start.

“I’ll ask her about it tomorrow. Dinner on Saturday?”

Hilda beams and nods and both sisters go back to their evening activities.

* * *

Admittedly, when Zelda summons Prudence to her office, she hasn’t figured out what she’ll say. She wants to make sure that Prudence knows she has the choice to turn it down; she doesn’t want the girl to feel obligated simply because her High Priestess is asking.

She is also unsure how familiar and maternal she should be with Prudence. True the young witch was old enough to live on her own and had all her life, but she was still a child by witching standards. In most ways she is more mature than Sabrina but it’s not by much. Zelda doesn’t want to be too soft with her; she’s sure that won’t work with Prudence. If it was coming from Hilda she might take it differently, but coming from her Prudence would just be suspicious and less likely to say yes.

“What can I do for you Mother Spellman?” Prudence is looking at her expectantly, hands crossed neatly in front of her. Zelda encourages her to take a seat and sits herself when she does.

“Hilda and I were wondering if you would like to join us for dinner on Saturday.”

Of all the things she must have been expecting to discuss, clearly that was not one of them. Prudence’s whole face crinkles in confusion and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She closes her mouth and Zelda gives her a minute, fighting the urge to smirk at her shock. After a minute Prudence tries again.

“Excuse me?”

“We would like to invite you to dinner on Saturday.” Zelda flexes her hands in her lap. “It was Hilda’s idea, really. Not that I disagree with her.” She is getting very close to babbling, she needs to rein it in. The older witch clears her throat. “You’ve been back over a month and I don’t know that we properly found a way to thank you for going with Ambrose and finding your father.”

The mention her father makes Prudence stiffen in her chair. Confusion is wiped away and replaced with uneasiness.

“But,” Zelda hastily puts a hand out, “You are under no obligation to come. You don’t have to say yes just because I am asking.” That seems to settle Prudence a little and she gives Zelda a small smile.

“I would like to accept your invitation, and I don’t feel it an obligation.” Zelda smiles back and clasps her hands together and stands. Prudence follows suit and leans towards her. “Besides,” Her voice drops conspiratorially, “Sister Hilda’s cooking would be a sweet relief to what cook makes here.”

Zelda chuckles and nods and Prudence turns to leave. But just as she is reaching the door, Zelda finds herself speaking out again.

“Prudence,” She calls out. Prudence spins back to her, face so very open and it presses Zelda forward. “I would like to make you one more offer.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted you to be aware that, should you like it, there will always be a room available for you at the Spellman house.”

“Oh.” She’s shocked again but now it has more of a dazed softness to it. Zelda pushes her palms into the edge of the desk and the slight sting keeps her talking.

“Your brother and sister live with us because I am their mother through marriage,” The babes have been hers from almost the moment they were born and in her heart for just as long, but marriage is what binds them to her so they may not be taken from her again. And the dazed girl in front of her is the reason they are safe and well and Zelda is so grateful for that. So grateful that the next thing she says comes out with more sincerity than she plans. “And I am yours as well.”

Gone is the daze, and Prudence clenches her jaw so quickly one might have thought she had been zapped with an electric current. Zelda resolves to wrap this up, both of them now very uncomfortable.

“You will always be welcome in our home. If ever you want to see Leticia and Roland or simply if you need it. And,” She adds, “Perhaps we could become a little less formal with each other.” Zelda is pushing it and she knows it but if she thought she was babbling before, it was nothing. Because she just keeps talking, all these soft words, sincere words,  Hilda  words.

Prudence truly doesn’t know what to say so she just nods and says she’ll be over for dinner and scurries from her office as quickly as she can. The second she is out of sight Zelda flops into her chair. She groans and tips her head back, letting it thunk against the solid wood as she covers her face with a hand.

_ Well that went well._

* * *

As Prudence makes her way up the long gravel driveway to the Spellman house, she doesn’t quite know how the evening will pan out.

To say she was surprised at Zelda’s offer is an understatement. If there is one thing Prudence has learned thus far in her life, is that you should never expect too much of people. People are prone to disappoint. She had seen it in the witching families who passed her over as an orphan child, in the teachers who made her work twice as hard to prove herself. She had seen it spectacularly in her father. Even now, she is seeing it in her sisters. Trailing home to them covered in her father’s blood was not enough to soothe their hurt feelings, and while Prudence is sure the animosity will pass, she cannot help but chide herself for not applying her one rule to her sisters.

Prudence had gone against her High Priestess’ orders because the temptation of killing her father herself had been too strong to resist. But when she returned his head and his children to her stepmother, Zelda Spellman did not curse her or find fault in her reason.

_Stepmother._

What a strange word to be connecting to the oldest Spellman witch. Prudence hadn’t exactly pictured what their lives would look like after the wedding. She hadn’t seen them as a picture perfect loving family; she wasn’t naive. But she had seen an opportunity to learn and be respected by Zelda. And if that was how she would live alongside her stepmother, Prudence had no issues with that.

Her father had utterly ruined any chance at that life. Or so she thought.

Perhaps Zelda thinks they can forge that relationship without her father connecting them. Though Prudence supposes he will always connect them now. Prudence keeps her guard up however. The words spoken to her today in the High Priestess’ office sounded an awful lot like Hilda Spellman.

By the time Prudence has reached the front door of the mortuary she has come to the conclusion to be cautiously optimistic about the dinner she is about to partake in.

She gives the door a good knock, hears muffled noise on the other side and a second later the door flings open, Sabrina standing in the doorway.

“Prudence!” She greets. “Come on in.”

Prudence steps lightly in the house and Sabrina offers to take her coat. Prudence hands it over, slightly uneasy at doing so. The last time Sabrina had done that for her Prudence had been Queen of the Feast. Then she had no problems making Sabrina perform to her every whim. Now, they’re still not quite friends but they are more on an equal level and it makes her uncomfortable to let Sabrina assist her.

The younger witch seems to pick up on her uneasiness and smiles. “You’ve come at the perfect time. The kids are just finishing eating. We’ll put them down for the evening and then we’ll eat.”

Sabrina leads her to the kitchen which is alive and warm. There is chatter all down the table as the small brood of children are finishing their meal. Hilda is moving between the stove and table encouraging the children to eat up. Prudence had forgotten how many there were. She counts six in total plus the babies. She and Ambrose had brought back two and the twins and by the time they returned some of the children of Greendale had been claimed by far away relatives. Still, four remained unclaimed and having eight children in the house under the age of ten must be tiresome.

The Spellmans seem to be taking it in stride though. While Hilda settles down one of the older children complaining of not getting to join the older Spellmans for dinner, Prudence spots Ambrose who has his back to her. He is trying to get Leticia to finish the food in front of her. The little girl apparently has no time for him as she smacks her hand on her tray, sending food flying.

Sabrina asks if she wants a drink which Prudence accepts and watches as the chaos at the table continues while she is still unnoticed. It is there she spots Zelda, with a little boy in her lap and a cloth in hand, trying to clean up a squirming Roland in his high chair to her left. It is odd to see Zelda Spellman, still in her slacks and blouse from school, negotiating acceptable vegetable consumption with the toddler in her lap. The boy eats a singular piece of carrot and smiles up her. Zelda merely squints and taps his plate indicating he must eat more. The boy pouts but continues to eat the carrots.

Sabrina hands Prudence the drink she’s made. Prudence looks down at the bright blue concoction and instantly regrets not just asking for straight liquor. But she smiles politely and takes a sip, surprised not to find it overly sweet.

“Prudence is here!” Sabrina calls out and everyone at the table turns. Both aunts glare at their niece as all of the children lose focus on what they were doing and instantly start chattering at Prudence. Ambrose turns and smiles at her, broad and genuine, and instantly Prudence feels more relaxed. She approaches him at the table and points to his shirt which is splotchy with wet patches.

“You have something on your shirt,” she teases. Ambrose rolls his eyes.

“Yes, dear Leticia here thought her tray was a bongo drum and has been slapping broccoli and water,” He points to a overturned sippy cup, “Everywhere, myself included.”

Prudence strokes a hand over her sister’s small head which earns a squeal and a happy baby smile and the little girl reaches a chubby dirty hand up at her. Ambrose snatches that little hand and wipes it down, making quick work of cleaning the baby. Across the table, Zelda has completed the same feat with Roland.

“Ambrose,” Zelda says, “Will you take Leticia up? I’ll be behind in a minute with the rest of the children.”

Ambrose salutes his aunt and heaves Leticia out of her chair. He quietly promises Prudence to be back quickly and heads out of the kitchen. Zelda gives a small smile to Prudence.

“Prudence, thank you for coming. I’m sorry things are a little hectic at the moment. We’ll have everyone settled in a few minutes.”

“Alright my loves,” Hilda calls to the table. “Let’s all follow Zelda upstairs, yeah?” The children all give a chorus of yeses and hop down from their chairs. Zelda deposits the toddler on the floor and stands, pulling Roland to her hip and leads her small charges out. They fall behind her like ducklings and soon the kitchen is incredibly quiet.

“Well,” Hilda puffs, eyes connecting with Prudence’s, “Welcome to our nightly mayhem.” She laughs and begins clearing the dishes. Prudence puts down her drink and tries to help but Hilda shoos her off instantly.

“Oh love, don’t worry about that! You’re our guest tonight, just relax.” Hilda waves her hand over the table and it shrinks, disappearing all but three chairs and the smaller bench. Prudence relinquishes and seats herself on the dinner bench.

“Every night is like that?” She asks. Hilda pauses loading dishes in the washer and thinks.

“Not usually. Usually we all eat together so they’re not as feisty.” She continues her task. “But we thought it would be a lot to bring you into so it’s just going to be the five of us.” She closes up the machine and sets it running. “But Sabrina will set them up with a movie and they’ll be fine!”

Prudence only now notices that she and Hilda are the only two in the kitchen. The kitchen witch heads back over to the stove and tend to what she has bubbling away, humming as she goes. It gives Prudence a moment to regard her.

Like Zelda, Prudence has known Hilda Spellman all her life. As a child, Prudence found her odd. She had a different voice from her sister and didn’t seem all that interested in Black Mass. But she came every week nonetheless. Every now and then she would ask after Prudence and the other orphans and the next time she came to Mass Hilda would bring them sweets. As she grew up, a part of Prudence envied the youngest Spellman sibling. The woman was always cheerful, managed to see the good in the world, even as her brother died. Prudence had no such ability, she grew up far too practical.

As she sits at the kitchen table Prudence considers perhaps that is why she spent many of her recent years thinking Hilda Spellman was ridiculous for being so light hearted.

Hilda places some warm bread on the table and sets the utensils out. She asks Prudence about her day. She is the softest person Prudence has ever known. Though recently Prudence has heard tale that Hilda is not as docile as everyone expects. Hilda Spellman, it is said murdered Shirley Jackson before the black wedding. Poisoned her because she sent a ghost to haunt her sister.

Perhaps being soft hearted took a different kind of strength, something sturdier. Prudence wonders if she will ever possess that kind of strength.

The young witch has just begun to learn about reading other witches’ magic, to see the colours that bloom with each person. As she sits and talks with Hilda, relaxing more in her domain, Prudence catches specks of glowing gold and green, shining in complete calm. She watches in awe, trying to catch more than the tiny pieces before her.

“The kids are good, let’s eat!” Sabrina says cheerfully as she enters the kitchen with Ambrose and Zelda in tow. Ambrose slides into the bench beside Prudence and Sabrina takes a seat on the far end of the table. Zelda joins Hilda at the stove and helps her with the food.

“The babies went down okay?” She asks. Zelda shrugs and runs a hand through her hair.

“Leticia went down fine, Roland made a fuss. Again.”

Hilda ladles soup into the bowl Zelda is holding. “Well Sister Marcus said he didn’t nap today.”

“Well perhaps if Sister Marcus listened to our instructions and let him cry it out he would sleep when he’s supposed to.” Zelda grumbles. Prudence smiles to herself; Sister Marcus is particularly dim witted, that was why she is placed in charge of the children and not actually teaching magic.

Hilda gently hip checks Zelda and urges her to let it go. They place the bowls in front of the younger witches and seat themselves, Hilda on the end and Zelda across from Prudence.

“So Prudence,” Zelda asks as she takes a sip of her wine, “How are you liking classes?”

Prudence frowns just a little and absently stirs her soup. What kind of question is that? She sees Zelda every day, hells, the woman teaches several of her classes. Doesn’t she already know?

Ambrose nudges her with his elbow, “It’s not a trick question.” He whispers, seemingly to have picked up on her thoughts. Prudence takes a careful sip of her soup. Hilda Spellman really was a wonder compared to the Academy cook.

“I like them well enough.” Prudence states, unsure of the correct answer she’s meant to give. Zelda raises an eyebrow.

“What do you like about them?”

Prudence smiles but it’s not very friendly. She puts her spoon down.

“Is this an interrogation of your teaching methods?”

Zelda reels back and the cousins go quiet. Hilda reaches a hand out but she’s too far from Prudence to actually touch her. She doesn’t retract her hand and a gentle smile graces her lips.

“No dear, we just want to know what your interests are.” The blonde witch assures. That damned softness is there, it drives Prudence mad for it sounds so coddling. Ambrose’s hand on her thigh is meant to be comforting but it’s just annoying.

“You’re quite talented at organism manipulation,” Zelda praises and the words warm the young witch and take some of her prickliness away. “Do you like it?”

Prudence picks up her spoon again and looks at her bowl. “It’s not my favourite course of study, no.” Zelda waits for her to elaborate. “But I do like knowing I can get myself out of a tricky situation if I need to.”

Ambrose tries giving her thigh a understanding squeeze but Prudence bats him away under the table.

“So what is your favourite course of study?” Zelda asks, and now that Prudence knows she’s not meant to be giving specific answers and is meant to answer honestly she finds she’s lost a bit of her fire. In fact, she’s growing embarrassed, not only for being so hostile but also for having to answer a personal question at a table of silent Spellmans.

She will not let them see her embarrassment however. Prudence spoons some more soup and answers honestly, “I quite like astral projection.”

Hilda lights up and motions to her sister. “Oh! Prudence did you know that Zelda likes projection too?”

Prudence raises an eyebrow at that but Zelda waves her off.

“I wouldn’t say it’s my favourite magical practice but I am rather proficient at it.”

Ambrose scoffs, “She’s just saying that because she wants to discourage us from doing it.”

“I am not.”

“Are too!” Sabrina challenges around a mouthful of bread. Zelda sniffs delicately and looks squarely at Prudence.

“If someone you loved was incapable of being able to break a projection session wouldn’t you want them to avoid the practice?” The older witch shifts her attention to Ambrose. Prudence turns to him in disbelief.

“You can’t pull yourself out?”

Ambrose scrapes the last of the soup from his bowl and refuses to meet her eye. “I can too.”

“Darling,” Zelda chides, “You had your Aunt Hilda overseeing you and you still needed me to break the candle circle.”

Prudence tuts and Sabrina laughs and Hilda soothes. The main course is served, delicious roast chicken and vegetable rolls. The conversation comes much more easily and soon enough dessert has past and the meal is complete.

Zelda offers to take Prudence to the library and lend her some books about astral projection so long as Prudence promises the next time she wants to project she have Zelda oversee so the older witch can watch her technique. Purely for educational purposes, of course.

With books in hand, Prudence leaves the Spellman home and makes the walk back through the woods to the Academy. The night went different than she thought it would go, though Prudence can’t say for sure whether or not she liked it.

* * *

Several nights later, long after everyone in the Spellman house has gone to sleep there is a knock on the front door. The noise startles the sisters awake, who stare confused across the darkness at each other.

“Who in Lilith’s name is banging on our door at this hour?” Zelda grouses. Hilda props herself on an elbow and rubs a hand over her face.

“Hmm, s’probably Ambrose.” Hilda mumbles. “I didn’t hear him come back from that party, did you?” Zelda shakes her head. “The boy is probably pissed and you know how dodgy his teleporting gets when he’s drunk.”

Zelda frowns in the darkness. “Perhaps he shouldn’t have gotten so drunk then.” She moves to get out of bed but Hilda waves her off. Hilda throws off her covers and toes on her slippers.

“I’ll go get him.”

Hilda creeps down the hall, sidestepping the old creaking floorboards and down the stairs. She’s decided she’ll chastise her nephew in the morning, telling him next time if he plans to drink so much to remember his keys.

“Prudence?” Hilda couldn’t hide her shock at seeing the young witch on their doorstep so late at night. “What are you doing out this late love?”

Prudence squeezes tight the handle of her bag and purses her lips even tighter. Clearly she is uncomfortable but as Hilda looks her over, the blonde witch could see just how tired and run down Prudence looked.

“Mother Spellman offered me a room here,” The girl says. She couldn’t keep eye contact with Hilda though, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I would very much like to take her up on that offer.” Hilda senses something isn’t quite right but says nothing. Instead she opens the door further and gives Prudence a soft smile.

“Of course dear. Come in and let’s get you settled.”

Prudence steps into the house cautiously, as if she was about to realize she shouldn’t have come and run. Her head snaps back to Hilda at the sound of the door closing. She schools her features instantly but the blonde witch caught the split second of fear that raced through her.

Up the stairs they went, taking extra care not to wake the other witches in the house. Hilda brings Prudence to a spacious room on the second floor and gently shows her where she could find more blankets and pillows.

“Bathroom is the last door on the left if you head back the way we came,” Hilda gave one more glance around the room, trying to see if there was anything she had forgotten to mention. She settles on Prudence, who had said nothing but nodded along to everything the older witch had said. It occurs to Hilda that Prudence may have never had her own room before. The thought makes Hilda’s heart ache a little.

It’s the most Hilda has looked at Prudence since she arrived. Which is why it’s only now that the older witch is noticing the odd presence of her magic.

It really is the most lovely shade of azure blue. Deep and full with just the beginnings of a secondary colour that Hilda believes will be an equally lovely pale grey.

But it’s the rough, raw edges on her magic that have Hilda’s attention. Stress and anxiety have been known to affect a witch’s magic but there’s something else Hilda just quite can’t place. She won’t pry -although the nervous energy is just  _ radiating  _ off this girl - because she suspects that Prudence wouldn’t tell her anything even if she asked.

“Prudence.” Her sister’s low voice comes from behind and both witches turn to look at the High Priestess. She’s wrapped tightly in her black and gold floral robe, arms crossed and stays at the edge of the door, not quite stepping into the space. “Is everything alright?”

Prudence smiles and it is so very fake. “Yes Mother Zelda.”

The title makes Zelda soften a touch. She can see Prudence is very physically uncomfortable to be here. But the use of her first name is, at the very least, an effort. Zelda had asked her to be less formal and the girl is trying. Best not to push every boundary in one night.

“There are so many people in the Academy right now, so much...” Prudence pauses for a moment, trying to find the right word. “...Noise. I just wanted to get a good night’s rest.”

It’s just as fake as her smile but neither Zelda or Hilda points that out. Instead Zelda nods slowly and adjusts her robe.

“Well, as I said, you are always welcome. If you need anything, Hilda and I are just three doors down on your left.”

“Holler if you need us lamb.” Hilda moves from her spot stuck between them and joins Zelda at the door. Prudence thanks them awkwardly once more and they leave her and head back to their own room. It’s not until the sisters are back under covers that Hilda speaks into the darkness.

“Zelds, her magic-“

“Yes, I saw it.”

There’s a huff from Zelda and a hum from Hilda and nothing more on the subject for the night.

* * *

  
The next morning Sabrina says Prudence is on the outs with the other students. Grief has a funny way of working itself out, especially in young people. Killing her father seems to have little meaning for the students who have nothing left. It started with one angry boy and had quickly spread to the remaining students. Even Dorcas and Agatha were angry with her. Something about not standing up for them when Faustus implemented the restrictions on women at the Academy.

But Sabrina’s not saying something. Zelda knows it. Hilda knows it. It’s her younger sister who prompts their niece to admit what she’s holding back.

“They’re harrowing her,” Sabrina won’t look them in the eye, “And I, uh, I think it’s really bad.” She finishes quietly.

“Sabrina!”

Zelda lets Hilda’s shock speak for the both of them. Honestly, after her own awful harrowing, one would think Sabrina wouldn’t stand for anyone else to be put through it. But then, rightfully, she doesn’t.

“Prudence swore she would curse me if I said anything.” The girl fiddles with the hem of her shirt, not meeting either aunt’s eyes. “She said she had it handled.”  


There isn’t any more time to discuss it because there’s a creak on the landing and moments later Prudence is peeking her head into the kitchen. The last time she was here she had been Queen of the Feast. Proud and sure, she had made their home her own. Now she is on the fringe, almost family - but not quite. Prudence doesn’t know where she stands but knows she has very little to stand on. And her pride must be taking a hit for her to even have come last night.

“Good morning love! Did you sleep well?” Hilda’s chipper tone eases some of Prudence’s tension and everyone resumes what they were doing .

“I did, yes, thank you Ms. Spellman.”

It’s only as the girl makes her way slowly towards the table that Zelda sees what she hadn’t been able to place the night before; a glamour far too complex for Prudence’s skill level. It keeps cracking in places and revealing fragments of the battered skin beneath.

The oldest Spellman flicks her paper back into place and murmurs a spell that would let her see past what Prudence has in place.

Her niece is offering a spot at the table and Zelda glances over her paper in what to most would look like passive interest with what is happening around the her.

But now she can see what Prudence has been trying to cover up and it’s no wonder the glamour had to be so complex. There are bruises all over her arms, varying in size and colour. Her bottom lip is split and there is a larger, not quite closed gash running along her right shoulder that dips out of sight under her nightgown but Zelda has a sneaking suspicion by the way Prudence is holding herself at the table the gash tracked further down her back.

A quick shift of her eyes confirm that Hilda has also clocked Prudence’s injuries. Her sister is trying not to look so obvious, hiding her concern as she fries more eggs and pops more bread in the toaster. She’s doing an awful job of it though; Hilda keeps shifting along the edge of her side of the island every few seconds and squinting at Prudence as if she stares hard enough, Lilith will bless her with X-ray vision. Zelda rolls her eyes and goes back to her paper.

A few minutes later when Zelda hears the rough grind of the mortar and pestle she once again looks over her paper. Hilda is pressing dried gardenias at the island.

_Don’t_.

But her little sister doesn’t respond to the gentle mental prod. Zelda sighs and tries again, a little more forceful.

_Hildegard. Stop it_.

The grinding ceases and there’s a shuffle as Hilda deposits the eggs and toast to Ambrose’s place just as their nephew’s footsteps thunder down the stairs. Zelda mutters a quick enhancement charm to strengthen Prudence’s glamour. Ambrose would surely see the cracks as clearly as the sisters and the High Priestess wished to spare her stepdaughter some dignity. Hilda glares at Zelda over her paper before taking her own seat as their nephew slides on the bench and barely gets out a greeting before scarfing breakfast down.

_ You can cover for her, but I’m not allowed to heal her?_

There is a huff from Hilda that she covers as a cooling breath on her tea.

_I am not covering for her. I am sparing her from an interrogation from Ambrose_.

As well intentioned as their boy was, Ambrose would no doubt hound Prudence for answers about her wounds.

“What do you children have planned for the day?” Hilda asks the table aloud. She’s always been better at having verbal and mental conversations at the same time.

“Theo and I are going down to the quarry.” Sabrina says happily.

“Just remember to be careful love.”

_ She could be healed in half an hour if she takes my potion._

_ No._

_ Zelda, have you seen her shoulder?!_

Hilda’s mental voice is quite shrill and Zelda resists the urge to tell her so. Instead she folds her paper down and stands to refill her coffee.

_ Of course I have._

“I’m going over to Riverdale, there’s a familiar fair.” Ambrose offers. Prudence raises an eyebrow at this but says nothing as she picks the fruit on her plate. “I thought I’d take a page cous’ book and find a familiar that chooses me.”

Zelda turns away from the coffee machine for a moment to smile softly at her nephew and found the rest of her family doing the same. Everyone was aware of the need for choice these days, considering how little of it they had in the past months.

“That’s awesome Ambrose!” Sabrina beams, clearly excited at the idea of another pet in the house.

“For Lilith’s sake don’t let it be another cat.” Zelda comments partly in jest, part in serious. Salem gives an indignant meow from the counter he’s perched himself on and hops down to wind himself against Zelda’s legs. He’s become quite helpful in recent months and while Salem’s loyalty lies first and foremost with Sabrina, Zelda had found the familiar spending many late nights up with her, contently curled next to the fireplace as Zelda wrote sermons, planned classes, or marked assignments.

_ Prudence has to choose to come to us on her own._

The coffee is ready and Zelda takes it back to the table and sits. Hilda has moved back to the stove and is spooning oatmeal into bowls for the both of them.

_I respect that Zelda, I really do. But this could get her killed_.

_ She’s already come to us for protection even if we didn’t know it. And we certainly won’t let her go back to the Academy knowing she’s being harrowed._

Hilda doesn’t answer as she puts the food before her and sits again. They sit in both verbal and mental silence for several minutes and eat. Zelda knows that Hilda’s silence is not one of acceptance or agreement and that her little sister is stewing. She could just override her, make the decision about Prudence as High Priestess - or, as a little voice in her head says, her  stepmother \- but Zelda doesn’t. If she wants Hilda’s help with the coven, with the children, if she wants to rule better than Faustus, then she can’t just make unilateral decisions.

The children are all engaged in what kind of animal Ambrose is hoping for and ‘ _does Prudence want to come?_ ’  that Zelda feels she can get away with a moment of open affection without making a scene. She takes a moment first to encourage Leticia to eat some of the banana on her tray before slipping a gentle hand over Hilda’s wrist. Her sister locks eyes with her and Zelda sighs.

_We will make her well. I promise._

There is silence still from Hilda and Zelda tries to convey the sincerity of her words, letting it flow freely from her. She was better at sharing this way, when she wasn’t fettered by words complicating the things she feels.

_You’re sure this is the right way to do this?_

It’s uncertain but it’s something.

_Yes_.

Hilda’s hand falls on hers and gives it a pat along with a barely there nod. She releases and turns just in time to stop Roland from throwing his breakfast to the ground. Zelda picks up her spoon and hears Hilda once more in her head.

_But the second I see an infection on that girl, I’m intervening, giving her time be damned_.

A smirk creeps across Zelda’s face and she gives a small acquiescing nod.

_Of course sister. Thank you._

* * *

  
It turns out Hilda didn’t have to wait much longer before she would be granted the chance to heal Prudence. She comes to the house on her own for two more nights, claiming that the Academy is too loud. Which is just as well because Zelda didn’t know how she actually planned to keep Prudence at the house every night otherwise.

The first night Prudence returns after dark but no worse to Zelda’s view.

The second night Prudence returns closer to light than the day before but her glamour shimmers enough for Zelda to see new, sharp cracking wounds along the edge of her shoulders.

It is on the third day that Zelda finds out just what in Lilith’s name is going on.

She was late for her tethering hexes elective - which since becoming High Priestess, her schedule couldn’t really sustain teaching electives but it was the only time of day Zelda wasn’t rebuilding a religion or fixing the mistakes of those before her or trying to make sure all these young witches didn’t come away from the last several months stiff with trauma so she’d keep it until she couldn’t - so she had been pleased to come around a corner and find an enchanted hallway before her. Curved and narrow, it would take her from her office to her classroom in a fraction of the time.

But as Zelda rounds the corner, a pinched whimper reaches her ears. She slows her pace, and comes to face four students at the hallway’s exit. It makes her frown; this hallway was created to appear only to witches who needed it. It wasn’t meant for sneaking from classes or hiding out. These children must have tampered with it. Zelda notes that for a later date because a few steps closer reveal it’s three boys pressing a girl into the wall. One at each arm, the third jabbing an elbow in between shoulder blades while a free hand holds her head to the wall. The girl is bucking like a snagged rabbit but making no headway against them.

Zelda recognizes the boys instantly; she’s made it her business to know every coven member since her ascension.

It’s the flash of the tight blonde waves that gives the struggling girl away.

“Gentlemen,” Zelda calls steadily. “Kindly release Ms. Night.” Her words earn whipped heads and guilty eyes. Almost immediately the boys on her arms release, stumbling back. Prudence braces her hands to the wall the second her hands are hers again and tries to push up but the last boy holds fast between Prudence’s shoulders.

The boy was one of Faustus’. His own dark hair is slicked back in imitation and the cruelty in his sneer as he regards Zelda is so completely her husband. It’s embarrassing to admit but it’s enough to give Zelda pause.

_That same sneer pushing against her throat while her own body is pressed into something hard. A bookcase? A door? There’s a crinkling at her waist as her skirts are pulled and bunched. Oh, she spends so much time fighting the fog drifting over her brain but maybe, maybe just this once she could let it roll over her..._

_Pressure between her thighs._

_Sharp teeth digging into her collarbone._

_Through the fabric of her dress, a squeezing hand on her breast._

_No._

_If she lets go, she might never come back._

Prudence sounds like she’s choking as the boy presses her further into the wall in challenge and Zelda finds herself. She takes only one step further and raises her hand.

“Mr. Pulsifer, remove your hands or I will remove them for you.”

She doesn’t waver now, and her tone leaves no room for argument. Fury blazes through her; she’s had just about enough of men thinking they can take, take, take with little to no consequences. Zelda only gives him a moment to respond and he doesn’t. She sighs and then there’s a crackle from her hand and Pulsifer is hissing as he rips his hands away. Bright red singes mark and bloody the edges of his wrists and he cradles them gently to his chest.

Prudence slumps into the wall and Zelda doesn’t fail to notice the gag she pulls from her mouth as the older witch stalks over to the group, coming to stand between Prudence and the boys.

“Mr. Garen, Mr. Waith, please take Mr. Pulsifer to the infirmary and  _wait for me there_. ”

The boys scramble to grab their injured brother and quickly disappear out the other end of the hall.

The High Priestess turns to Prudence who, besides one delicate hand balancing against the wall, looks like nothing in the world is wrong. Her free hand smooths her skirt and she offers Zelda a polite closed mouth smile.

“Thank you Mother Spellman.” Her voice is hoarse from the gag and this time she offers no fake explanation to her situation. Zelda gives what she hopes doesn’t look too much like a pitying smile. If their roles were reversed she knows that she wouldn’t want anyone’s pity. She also wouldn’t want any help.

Unfortunately for Prudence, she is a child and Zelda is a person who can’t just let this slide.

The older witch reaches out, not quite touching but guiding the girl as she tips her head wordlessly back in the direction of her office. A twitch of her fingers sends out notice to let her students know that class is cancelled for the day and another to the infirmary alerting the staff on duty to hold the boys until she came for them.

They travel in silence and stay in silence until the door is closed and Zelda has perched herself on the edge of her desk, arms crossed.

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

Will Prudence be honest with her?

“It was just a few boys trying to prove their superiority.”

So not honesty then.

Zelda wonders if this is a lie Prudence has told many times before.

“Are they the same boys who gave you the bruises on your arms?” She could have been more subtle, tried to navigate Prudence into admitting it all herself. But that was more Hilda’s style. Predictably, Prudence stiffens before her eyes flash and her breathing picks up in anger.

“Sabrina had no right-”

“I saw through your glamour the other morning at breakfast.” Now it isn’t anger but panic that crosses Prudence’s face.

“Did anyone else-?”

“Just Hilda.”

“It’s just harrowing. A new church, a new school.”

Zelda purses her lips. There was a lot she was trying to rid of in their new coven and harrowing had been one. Sometimes she tries to think of how she had possibly found it acceptable for students to treat one another that way. She tells herself it was due to centuries of tradition, a fact she held to after she harrowed her little sister.

_ Better I harrow her than someone else _ .

Lies are easier to tell if you make yourself believe them.

But Sabrina changed it for her, as she did most things. There was no way to excuse the horror of it now. And as much as Zelda wanted to remain ambivalent towards the rest of the students, she was having a frustratingly difficult time in doing so. She was Mother Spellman now, in more ways than one.

“Setting aside for a moment that harrowing is no longer permitted in this coven,” Zelda stops her rising voice, sighs again. She doesn’t want to take her frustration out on Prudence, she is the injured person here - quite literally. Prudence has her head bowed, clearly expecting to be blamed for her predicament. “I’m glad you came to us, even if you weren’t ready to say why.”

Dark eyes swim to meet hers filled with confusion and distrust.

Next comes the part Zelda knows the girl won’t like.

“Prudence, you are a powerful witch. But you are not a healer my dear. I don’t want you dying of infection because you are too proud to ask for help.” Prudence fidgets for a moment before saying rather sullenly,

“It’s not infected.”

It’s moments like this Zelda is taken back by how similar she and Prudence are. How many times had Hilda asked over the years if things were alright? But then again, Hilda never pushed and no one else ever asked. But Zelda would be blessed before she let Prudence fall into her own bad habits. Or any further than she already has.

“Will you let me take a look?”

The young witch squeezes her hands together to ground herself in an effort to keep herself from backing away. She searches Zelda’s face, trying to discern if she really had a choice in the matter.

“No,” Prudence says finally. Zelda nods slowly, disappointed but not surprised.

“Alright then. You may go.”Prudence steps away in a jerky move, as if she’d been spellbound to stay and listen to Zelda speak. She’s almost to the door when Zelda calls to her and says she hopes to see Prudence at dinner that night.

* * *

Prudence doesn’t arrive for dinner.

Zelda isn’t surprised but is oddly disappointed.

When there’s a knock at the door, it’s Ambrose who answers.

“Ah, Prudence,” He leans his body across the doorframe. “Come to escape another noisy night at the Academy?”

He probably thinks this night will go somewhere fun. After all, in the months searching for Father Blackwood there had been many  fun  nights. And she doesn’t dislike Ambrose; in fact he’s quite good at keeping what they have loose. It’s just that she’s not looking to attach herself to anyone at the moment. All she wants is to repair her name and status.

Prudence had loathed the name Night from the moment she was old enough to understand what it meant. As a girl she didn’t need Father Blackwood to be her father; anyone would have done really. Someone to come and take her home and give her a name, one that wasn’t met with pity or distain.

But then she had found her sisters and Prudence was sure she had found her family. They would be enough for each other.

It didn’t change the fact they were children. They had no one to regulate them, no one to solve their infighting.

No one else to love them.

As Prudence squeezes past Ambrose and into the main foyer, she tries not to think of the day a few years ago when she’d followed Sabrina through the woods planning to torment her just a bit. She had spent most of her life trekking the forests of Greendale and somehow managed to miss her opportunity. Sabrina crossed onto the Spellman property and Prudence wasn’t fool enough to risk crossing Zelda on her ground.

She’d found herself around the back of the Spellman house watching Hilda Spellman welcome her niece and nephew into the kitchen where she was making dinner. They smiled and laughed and even danced together before being joined by the Spellman matriarch. Prudence watched them from between branches as they settled down to eat. There was love at that table, with those people. The air grew cold and the leaves on the forest floor were damp around her feet but Prudence stayed and watched even as the dinner came to an end. Sabrina and her cousin cleared the plates while the aunts busied themselves with preparing tea and coffee. They talked and laughed some more while the younger witches did the dishes.

It was disgustingly domestic and yet...there was an ache in Prudence’s chest at the scene before her. More than that, she was filled with regret at having to leave and return to Academy.

Prudence continued to return to the edge of the Spellman property in the following months. They were predictable in their nightly routine and so on the nights Prudence felt particularly alone she would watch them eat and clean dishes and drink tea. 

It was everything she had wanted as a girl but had never voiced since she faced the reality of never having it. But then the coven nearly died and the survivors had begun living in the Spellman house. Suddenly she was sitting at that table every night, sharing in the food and laughter and love.

She had wanted to let that love flow over her and become commonplace but Ambrose wanted to hunt her father and when she returned teachers and students had moved back to the Academy and Prudence was reminded she was not blood, and the mortuary was not her home.

So even when Zelda Spellman offered her what she had most craved, Prudence ran to what she knew.

She had not planned to return. The harrowing had become unbearable for even her however, so Prudence crept uncertainly to the looming house and was met with unfailing kindness and warmth from Hilda and a sense of strength and protection from Zelda.

“Of course Brother Ambrose,” Prudence deflects his question airily with a sauciness she’s really not feeling. “How can I be expected to catch up on my studies if I am falling asleep in front of my books?” Her coat is moved to the rack with familiar ease and she turns back to Ambrose who is watching her with that ever present glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Where is Mother Zelda? I need to speak with her before retiring for the evening.”

The amusement is chased by a moment of shock when Ambrose realizes she is quite serious about just sleeping the night. It’s gone in an instant though, as he is the boy who doesn’t hold onto things too tightly.

“I believe she’s in her study.” He motions through the parlour and leads the way. The door to the study is closed and Ambrose gives it a tap, waits for his aunt’s low call to enter and peeks his head in.

“Someone’s here to see you Aunt Zee,” Zelda looks over her glasses at him, brow furrowed in confusion as she glances at the time on the clock on the mantle. Ambrose pushes the door open to reveal Prudence and Zelda’s eyebrows raise in surprise. The girl steps into the study and Ambrose starts to close the door behind her.

“We should start charging rent on the rooms.” He calls out just before the door closes completely. Zelda huffs but does not take the bait. Instead, she turns her attention back to Prudence.

The light from the fire and a small lamp on the desk washes the oldest Spellman in warmth. She’s still in her clothing from the school day but has pulled her hair back into a ponytail. There are glasses perched on the edge of her nose that are not unfamiliar to Prudence though she has only ever seen her wear them around the house. There’s a cigarette dying in an simple glass ash tray just to the left of the papers Zelda had clearly been marking. It’s a gentler look than Prudence is used to seeing in her High Priestess and it takes some of the edge off what she’s come to do.

“Prudence,” Zelda says slowly and places her pen aside to fold her hands together on the desk. She leans forward slightly and asks, “What can I do for you?”

Prudence keeps her head high and shoulders straight but that doesn’t stop a heat of embarrassment from creeping up her neck.

“Would-“ This was harder than she thought. “Would you still be willing to look at my back?” Zelda’s eyebrows shoot up and her mouth drops open a fraction in expected shock before she recovers herself and clears her throat.

“Of course.”

She gestures toward the fireplace and places her palms on her desk, pushing off and they move in tandem to meet. Zelda stands politely to the side as Prudence works the fine buttons of her blouse. She shrugs it off and partially unzips her skirt so she can fold it down to expose the entirety of the wound. Prudence stands in her bra and with her skirt clinging to her hips so it won’t fall, she turns herself away so that her back is exposed to the High Priestess.

“Oh Lilith,” Zelda curses on a sigh.

The wound starts at the base of Prudence’s spine and spans her whole back. There is a thick cut that runs straight down the centre of her back, with varying sizes and depths of cuts branching off of it. Some of the gashes are slightly healed over and others look newer, still mostly open and fresh. Zelda spots the cuts she had noticed a few days prior and checks them over. Though they are new, her shoulders show no signs of infection. Zelda works her way carefully across her slender back, very aware not to touch the sensitive skin and astounded so much damage could be brought to such a small place.

“The other students seemed to believe I should pay penance for the crimes committed by my family tree.” Prudence speaks into the silence. Zelda pauses in her examination at the distance in Prudence’s voice and leans away to look at the complete wound.

It’s in the shape of a tree.

Zelda feels a surge of three things all at once; first her heart breaks just a bit for Prudence, followed quickly by the astonishment that the girl had bore this as long as she had, which was quickly flooded over with rage at the people responsible for this torment.

But she puts it all aside for the moment and continues her exam. It is then she notices that at the bottom of the horrific tree, the cuts meant to be roots are infected. They’re red along the borders growing yellow and then white towards the centre of the slashes. Not terribly so, but enough to cause concern.

“The cuts at bottom are infected.” Zelda says in a low voice. Prudence gives a stiff nod but does not look back.

“I suspected they might be.”

Zelda reaches for the shirt Prudence had discarded on nearby chair and hands it to her. As the young witch slips it on, a wince crosses her face as she shifts her shoulders to redress. Zelda catches her wrist before she finishes.

“Hilda needs to take a look at this.”

Prudence immediately disagrees. “I came to  you . I don’t want everyone to know that-” A gentle squeeze of Zelda’s hand halts her words.

“I appreciate you coming to me. You made the right decision. But Prudence,” Zelda’s eyes trail down her back as she shakes her head. “I’m not a healer either. A wound like this is beyond my expertise. You need my sister to look at you.”

Prudence looks at her as she had that afternoon, like she would like nothing more than to run. Zelda suspects the only reason she was still here was she was smart enough to know coming tonight would mean Zelda wouldn’t let her go back to the Academy that night.

“Please.” Zelda implores.

Prudence nods.

* * *

Zelda paces outside her study, furiously smoking while she waits for Hilda to finish her assessment of Prudence.

This was not going to be good.

She tries to busy herself for a moment, and marches to the foyer. Only once she is standing there does Zelda realize there is not much to do; the babies and small children are all asleep, even Sabrina and Ambrose are tucked away in their respective spaces. She’d try and do a bit more marking but she had left her paperwork in her study.

There’s nothing to do but her magic is building up at the stress of her responsibilities, Prudence’s situation, and Hilda’s inevitable displeasure at what has happened to Prudence. Zelda stretches out her palms and lets the magic fall from them. The deep burgundy and umber threads reach past the walls of the Spellman house and connect with the Wards guarding the property. They don’t really need reenforcing at the moment but she has to put her magic somewhere. The simple spell does not relieve any of the tension building behind her eyes and so she takes a long drag from her cigarette and lets the smoke fill her lungs.

It also does very little.

The door to her study creaks open and Zelda rushes back to the hallway, to almost be barrelled into by Hilda. Her sister shoots a glare up at her and huffs, pushing past her and moving towards the kitchen.

“Hilda...”

Hilda shakes her head and raises her hand up to silence Zelda. The auburn witch follows her little sister to the kitchen. Hilda disappears into the green house and Zelda waits, tapping some ash off into the sink.

When Hilda comes back into the kitchen she is carrying a myriad of herbs and plants which she dumps on the island before heading over to the cupboard. Zelda continues to wait because Hilda is practically shaking, her magic thumping erratically, the golds and deep greens pounding the air around her. She begins her work on what Zelda assumes will be a poultice. There is probably only a minute of chopping before Hilda speaks.

“This will take more than half an hour to fix.”

Zelda hums in acknowledgement and still she waits.

“This will take a few weeks.  _Maybe more_. ” Her sister’s voice shakes along with her body. She’s trying to keep her tone in check because the small children are sleeping and no doubt she would like to avoid alerting Ambrose and Sabrina. The chopping continues for another minute before Hilda has to put the knife down and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You said we would keep them safe. That we would keep  _ her  _ safe!” Hilda’s voice climbs at the end of her sentence and finally cracks in anger. And she’s not wrong. Zelda discards her cigarette and turns to Hilda who is not so patiently waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want to make excuses but Hilda,” Zelda sighs deeply and struggles to articulate her words with her sister standing before her so full anger and disappointment. “Besides the few adult witches who survived Faustus’ attack, which I may add-” Zelda points at her sister and begins to pace, “Beyond teaching- which getting them to do was like pulling teeth - they have refused to be responsible or take care of the younger witches.” Behind her, the glasses in the cupboard began tinkling as her own frustration mounted and her magic surged a notch. “It’s just you and I Hilda. How can we possibly be expected to catch everything?”

“Zelds, that is the bloody point!” The kettle screams to life and Zelda snaps her fingers to halt it mid screech while Hilda screws her hands into her eyes to push away the tears there. Hilda has always been so full emotionally that even in anger she has tears. She slams her palms into the island and clenches them into fists at the noise she’s made. “Until relatives start showing up, we have to take care of them all. We have to keep them safe.” Her sister points out towards the parlour. “The injuries to Prudence’s back are weeks old, if not a month. She has been harrowed practically since she and Ambrose got back. And we both missed it and that cannot happen again!”

“And what do you suggest we do sister?”

More insistent tinkling in the cupboard.

“I don’t know Zelda!”A glass shatters behind Zelda’s head. The force of it blows the glass paneling of the cupboard apart, sending sharp shards into Zelda’s hair. She hisses as a stray piece glides across her cheek and Hilda gasps at her own lack of control. Above them, tiny feet thump against the floorboards. There’s shuffling along the hall but the movement stops at the top of the stairs. Zelda groans and rubs at her temples, the earlier tension against her eyes now a full headache.

“I will go see who has woken up. Please continue on the poultice. I’ll be back in a minute.” Zelda instructs tersely and leaves the kitchen.

She pauses a moment before rounding on the staircase and raises a hand to her face. The cut is thin and her fingers come away with barely any blood. But it still stings so Zelda tosses a glamour over it before turning to look up the stairs.

Standing at the top of the stairs, stuffed bat clutched in small arms is Sybil, one of the orphan child witches Ambrose and Prudence had taken in on their travels. Her copper curls are tangled against her ears and normally pale cheeks are flushed from being tucked in a warm bed.

“Zella it alight?” She asks in a small concerned voice. Zelda smiles softly and nods, crossing up the stairs until she’s eye level with the little girl.

“Everything is alright sweetheart,” Zelda soothes. “Hilda just dropped a glass. Let’s get you back into bed, hmm?” Sybil nods and takes Zelda’s offered hand and together they head back to the room holding the young children.

Zelda misses Prudence hovering at the entrance to the parlour on her way up.

It takes her several minutes to settle Sybil down and lull a few other sleepy children who had shifted awake at Sybil’s movement. Thankfully neither her niece or nephew had heard the noise and when Zelda returns downstairs Hilda is wrapping the poultice up in a thin cloth.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda says in a low voice as she comes to a stop across the island from Hilda. “We should checked on Prudence sooner.” Hilda scoffs at her. “I thought it was important for her to come to us on her own.”

Hilda wipes her hands clean with a dish cloth. “I appreciate you wanting to take Prudence’s comfort into consideration.” She plants her hands on her hips. “I’m mad that you insisted we wait when we knew she was being harrowed. We could have prevented her from pain, even it was just a little.”

Zelda has the grace to look apologetic. Hilda’s anger rarely builds to the point of magically shattering glasses and never does it build so quickly. Zelda thinks back to earlier that day in the hidden hallway. She’s not yet shared that with Hilda and doesn’t think she will. Because Hilda was right; she could have prevented that.

“You need to deal with this.” Hilda says firmly. “It has to be you. You are the High Priestess so the discipline should come from you. What those students did was monstrous and I, I can’t.”

Hilda doesn’t need to explain herself. Hilda has always been a good mother and has handed out her fair share of discipline to Ambrose and Sabrina. It’s not that she doesn’t have the backbone for it. Rather that she has very little restraint when it comes to punishment for senseless violence or retribution for her family.

She’s seen the brutality on Prudence’s back and she doesn’t trust herself not to take the discipline of these students too far.

“Besides,” Hilda offers as she ties some string to the bundle to hold it together, “I think it will be good for Prudence to see you stand up for her.”

Zelda gets a broom from the mud room and begins sweeping up the glass. “How do you mean?”

“Well, Lilith knows that girl has had no consistent adult figure in her life who has cared enough to put her well being first.” Hilda spoons more poultice into another cloth. “She looks up to you, albeit from afar.” Her sisters says this like it’s a secret. “And you’re her stepmother.” Zelda halts abruptly in her sweeping and Hilda shrugs. “I know, I know, we don’t really talk about it, but it’s true. And I think she wants to be a part of this family.” Hilda binds the second bundle and sighs tiredly. “We’re just gonna have to be patient with her. And this is the first step.”

Hilda holds up the poultice sacks and moves towards the door, gingerly avoiding the remaining shards on the floor.

“Zelds?”

“Yes Hildie?”

“I’m sorry about the glass and your cheek.”

Zelda looks at her sister and gives a smirk. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who loses it from time to time.”

Hilda smiles gratefully back at her.

“Go ahead and give those to Prudence, I’ll come in in a minute.”

* * *

By the time Zelda clears the glass from the kitchen floor and joins Hilda in the parlour, her sister has already gone over the treatment plan with Prudence.

“You’re saying that I  _ have  _ to live here for the next month?!” Came Prudence’s shocked cry. The girl stood behind one of the high back chairs, gripping it like a shield.

“I think that’s best love.” Hilda says softly from her place on the couch. “I need to keep an eye on how it’s healing.”

Zelda moves to the drink tray and pours herself a bourbon. She pauses, thinks for a moment and pours two more. She passes one to Hilda who takes it gratefully for once and offers the other to Prudence. She stares at Zelda like it’s a trick but takes the drink nonetheless.

“I agree with Hilda.” Zelda confirms as she settles into the chair next to Prudence. “Besides what good does it do if Hilda does all this work, for you to just go back to the Academy and get new injuries?”

It’s a valid point and Prudence nods slowly and moves around the chair to sit in it. Zelda knows Prudence is a smart witch, she knows it’s the most logical way to go about things. But for reasons not yet shared to Zelda, Prudence is wary of living in this house.

“Of course there is also the matter of punishing the students who did this to you.” Zelda brings up. Prudence’s expression turns stormy and her hands tighten on her glass to the point Zelda is wondering if she’ll be cleaning up more glass before the night is through.

“I will handle them.” Prudence vows.

“Absolutely not.” Zelda counters. “I am the headmistress at the Academy now. I told the student body no more harrowing. It is my job to see they are properly punished.”

“They’ll think I’m getting special treatment.” Prudence mutters, “Like I did when my father ran the school.” The venom in her voice for her dead father slips off her tongue and Hilda shoots a worried glance at her sister.

“Prudence, not to worry. I would do the same for any student.” Zelda assures, which earns her a quick mental jab from Hilda.

_ Don’t let her think she’s not deserving of special treatment Zelda._

_She’s anxious about living here sister, I doubt she’s ready for us to call her family_.

That thought earns her a mental swat.

_ Make an effort Zelda Phiona._

“Of course,” Zelda tries again and places a hand on the edge of Prudence’s seat, “you mean more than just the average student.”

Prudence’s eyes move from the spot she’s locked them on the ground and find Zelda’s. She looks like there is so much she’d like to say, so much hiding in her dark eyes but she says nothing. The only thing to give away how she may be feeling is a small sad upward twitch of her lips.

“Thank you.” She says quietly to the sisters. Hilda waves her off.

“It’s nothing,” She stands and moves to Prudence, urging her to stand as well. When she does, Hilda gives her arm a quick squeeze and reassuringly rubs the spot with her thumb. “That’s just what family does.” Prudence looks shocked at the statement but Hilda starts moving her towards the parlour door.

“Now it’s getting late. We can talk in the morning about which students have been harrowing you. For now, head up and use the poultice like told I you and get some rest.”

Prudence, still looking thrown off by Hilda’s calm and matter-of-fact nature, simply nods and disappears up the stairs. Zelda places her glass on the side table and stands.

“That went easier than I expected.” Zelda says, stepping into the spot Prudence just vacated, arms crossed. Hilda pulls a face and releases a breath.

“She’s worn down right now. No doubt we’ll get more of a fight out of her later.” With that Hilda perches up on her tip toes and places a kiss goodnight on Zelda’s cheek and makes for the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a bit, I’ve still got to finish marking.” Zelda assures. Hilda nods and up she goes. With Hilda gone, Zelda grudgingly turns back and heads to her study, resigned to at least another hour worth of work.

* * *

Hilda was right; getting the information about her assailants was harder to pry from Prudence in the light of day. It turns out that beyond the three in the hall Zelda already knew about there had been three more students who had actively participated in her torment.

To satisfy Hilda, she and her sister agree to move the students closer to keep a better eye on them. There had been talk of Zelda moving into the Academy but that had quickly been dismissed; Zelda could not sleep in the same place she had been under Faustus’ spell. The sisters will not allow them all back into the mortuary; not only can Zelda not stand the lack of hot water in her home but they cannot compromise Prudence again by having the people who assaulted her in her home.

Just past the Spellman property they erect cottages for the remaining students. Close enough to keep a good eye on but far enough for some healthy distance.

Zelda for her part, swiftly delivers punishment, not so subtly making sure the students understand the next time they attempt bodily harm to another member of their coven Lilith herself will see to it they burn for eternity in the pit.

Prudence comes home and finds Zelda in the library, making the final purge of outdated texts. While Hilda assures her the books could be repurposed in some form, Zelda still has some magic and stress to melt away and so was burning the awful things. Zelda hears Prudence slip in but doesn’t turn around, keeping her eye on the peaceful blaze contained magically in an oversized bin.

“How was your day?” She asks. Prudence hums and pushes off the wall she’s leaning on.

“Surprisingly uneventful.”

Zelda casts a quick glance to where Prudence has come to rest beside her. There is no longer a glamour in place and she looks no worse for wear. Her magic has settled, frayed edges gone. In its place the azure is smooth, pulsing contently.

They watch the fire in silence for a moment and then Prudence shifts, eyes trailing the smoke that flows out the window.

“Zelda...” It’s the least formal thing Prudence has ever called her. “Thank you. You didn’t have to take me on just because you married my father. Leticia and Roland need a family. You did not have to offer me the same courtesy.”

“Prudence-” Zelda angles herself more toward her but the girl gives a little shake of her head.

“But you did. And I...” Prudence struggles to find the right word and this time it is so very true. “I am grateful.”

Zelda’s heart gives out a little at her sincerity and she smiles softly and gently places her hand on a small unwounded portion of Prudence’s shoulder. “I meant what I said. This home is yours as long as you’d like.”

Prudence’s eyes water and she gives a relieved smile and her magic shines.

“Now,” Zelda clears her throat and reaches for another blasphemous book. “Would you like to help me destroy this rubbish?” She offers the book to Prudence. “Considering I didn’t let you kill your schoolmates today?”

Prudence laughs and takes the book from her. She holds it in both hands and a moment later it bursts into flames. She tosses it in with the others and looks at Zelda expectantly.

Zelda reaches for two more books and together the High Priestess and Daughter of Night burn away a little piece of their respective traumas. 

It’s not a lot, but for today it is enough.


	2. Hide and Seek -Sybil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of hide and seek does not go as planned.
> 
> Someone named Spongebob asked for a chapter on Sybil. I hope you like it!

It’s half past five in the afternoon when Hilda calls. Most of the students have gone home to the cottages but Zelda is in her office working. Lilith had stopped by, which was rather uncharacteristic for the new Queen. She was lounging on the settee in the High Priestess’ office when Zelda had returned from her final class. After months of fighting off demonic members of her court and the pagans, she was ready to help and rebuild their religion. So Zelda is up to her elbows in old scripture when the phone rings.

“Hello, Mother Spellman speaking.”

“Zelds? It’s me.” Hilda’s voice comes through on the other side.

“What can I do for you sister?” Zelda asks, cradling the phone against her ear and shoulder and turning her attention back to the tomes Lilith had left.

“We ah, we have a little situation at the house.”

Zelda rolls her eyes. Was it completely impossible for her to work without something happening?

“Hilda, it seems these days there is always some kind of situation going on. What’s happened?”

“I was starting on dinner, the children were out in the yard playing hide and seek and I told them,” Hilda’s breath catches for a moment. “I told them not to go past the cottages, but Sybil’s gone into the woods.” Hilda pauses. “Zelds, the children came to me because they couldn’t find her.”

Zelda marks her spot and closes the tome, not quite sure what the issue was. Hilda was a full grown witch. “Well cast a tracking charm and go find her.” Zelda says, slightly annoyed.

“Zelda, I already tried that.” Hilda responds, a patient kind of annoyance in her tone as well. “The charm broke when we hit a river.”

_ Oh no. _

Gone was the annoyance because now Hilda has her full attention. And now that Zelda wasn’t so distracted she could hear just how out of breath and unnerved her sister sounds.

“Zelda, we need your help. You have to come home  _ now _ .” 

* * *

Zelda apparates into the Spellman kitchen less than five minutes later and is greeted by her younger sister who is wringing her hands anxiously.

“Where are the children?” Zelda asks immediately.

“They’re out in the back yard. I sent the older students into the woods to look for Sybil.” 

“Alright,” Zelda thinks for a moment, desperately wishing to light a cigarette but they didn’t have the time. “Bring the young ones into the house, I’ll summon Dorcas and Agatha to watch them.” 

Hilda, who is already halfway to the back door, pauses and looks back at her in confusion. 

“You’re sure you want those two?” 

“They’re smart and they’re stronger together. I need Prudence with us, but Dorcas and Agatha will be able to defend the children if they have to.” 

The room grew incredibly still with the weight of the words Zelda put out. Neither sister wanted to believe malicious intent was behind the young girl’s disappearance but Zelda and Hilda hadn’t survived for centuries without being smart. 

Even a lack of dark interference doesn’t lessen the fear currently ramping in Zelda’s chest. Hilda gives a solemn nod and heads into the yard. Zelda closes her eyes and focuses on the two weird sisters, a summoning spell slipping from her lips as her magic reaches out and pulls the girls through time and space. 

They faze into existence before her and startle for a moment trying to get their bearings.

“What-?” The sisters stutter in unison. Zelda steadies them with a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Girls, listen to me. Hilda is bringing the small children into the house. I need you to watch them while we search for Sybil.” 

Both girls immediately balk at the idea. 

“We were just searching for her in the forest!” Agatha says.

“And you want us to babysit?” Dorcas asks petulantly. “We can help. Why don’t you get Melvin or Elsbeth to watch them?” Zelda sighs and levels a mild glare at them. Even at half it shuts both sisters up. 

“I need you here. You are both strong witches and should you have to, I know you can defend and protect the children.” The girls look at each other, suddenly worried and far more serious.

“Are we in danger?” They ask as one. 

“I sincerely hope not. But we can never be too careful.” 

Hilda returns with the children. They are all surprisingly quiet and while any other day Zelda would wish for just this, right now she wishes for a little noise. For that would mean they weren’t afraid and nothing bad was taking place this day. Zelda knows that Hilda will have avoided saying anything to upset them but they were observant children and had surely seen the older witches march into the woods to look for their missing sister. She reaches out for the children and they come, falling in all around her. 

“Alright children. You’re going to stay here with Agatha and Dorcas. You are going to listen to everything they tell you until Hilda and I get back.” Frightened eyes stare up at her and nod in understanding. Zelda wishes more than anything she could tell them it was going to be alright and that they would be safe but she’s made it a rule to herself not to lie to the children when things were serious. Instead she wraps an arm around Mia, the nine year old witch next to her and strokes a hand over six year old Henry’s head from where he has clutched himself around her leg. It’s the best she can do and it does nothing for her or the children’s nerves. 

“Right then lambs,” Hilda says softly and lightly, “Head downstairs with Dorcas please.” The ginger girl nods and starts ushering the children out of the kitchen. Agatha pulls Henry from Zelda and Hilda catches her. 

“The babies are upstairs. Get them and take them down to the safe room and then seal yourselves in there.” Agatha nods and rushes Henry out with her. Hilda watches them go, apprehension playing plainly across her face. Zelda grabs her arm.

“They’ll stay safe.” She assures. Hilda looks at her and she knows her sister wants to believe her. But nothing is for certain. “Take me to the river.” 

* * *

The Spellman sisters reach the river west of their property and Zelda thanks Lilith for small blessings. Of all the bodies of water in the forest, this one is one of the smallest. In fact it’s a stream, not too deep and flows slowly. It’s also the closest to the house meaning that Sybil couldn’t have gone far. But she is only four years old. The forest is a big place and the water is deep enough in places to submerge her. 

As they walk to the bank, they are joined by Sabrina, Ambrose, and Prudence. Zelda can see the rest of the students not too far off, searching the underbrush and water’s edge. 

“Aunties,” Ambrose greets. “We have everyone combing the area. The tracking charm brought us this far and then dissolved.” He looks over to the flowing water and frowns. Zelda nods and holds her hand out. 

“What were you using to track her?” Perhaps the charm had broken because the item they were using to track her wasn’t strong enough. 

Prudence steps forward and pulls a small blanket out from her back pocket. 

_ Damn.  _

It’s the blanket that Sybil sleeps with. It’s barely bigger than a dinner napkin and it was the only personal thing she had with her when she arrived in their home. It is the strongest item they could have used. Zelda takes the blanket from her step daughter and rubs it between her fingers.

“So it’s the river then.” She says quietly. Tracking charms only worked so long as the item used was strong enough and the person being tracked wasn’t covered in water. A little didn’t matter but if someone was soaked, the charm dissolved, like the scent had been lost. Zelda walks to the very edge of the water and looks down the length of it. 

“Did you try an enhancement charm?”

“We did.” Ambrose affirms.

“And did you separate the magical essences in the area?”

“Yes. There are too many magical presences to discern anything.” Prudence says. She doesn’t say what Zelda is already thinking; that because Sybil is so young her magical signature isn’t strong enough to separate her from the rest of the magic in the forest. Something another magical being might know. 

“What about beacon spell?” 

“We already thought of that Auntie.” Sabrina answers in a quiet voice. “We were afraid of casting the net too small and missing her or casting it too large and accidentally summoning the other children or mortal children.” 

They really had tried to solve this on their own. But now they needed her because they were out of ideas and she is the High Priestess. She’s meant to have all the answers. Zelda slips the blanket in her pant pocket and spins her ring on her finger. Her brain feels as if it’s short circuiting as she runs through spells. She wants to confer with some spell books but they don’t have the time. Not to mention that her nephew is basically a walking library and he is out of options. 

_ Think, think, think .  _

“If we can’t look for Sybil specifically, perhaps we can search for something else we believe may be in the river.” Zelda mutters. 

“How do you mean?” Prudence asks from behind her. Zelda turns and looks at her family. They’re all waiting anxiously for her to have the answer. And it’s not a very good one. 

“We cast a sink or swim spell over the river and sees what comes up.” 

Ambrose’s mouth drops open in shock. Hilda’s face crumples and she shakes her head.

“No.” She whispers. Prudence and Sabrina look at them and then at each other. 

“What is that spell?” Sabrina asks cautiously. Zelda looks to all of them, and takes a breath.

“It’s a spell that will tell us of anything dead in the water.” 

Ambrose’s eyes close at the admission. Prudence drops her gaze to the ground as Hilda sniffles. Sabrina raises her hands and tries to calm everyone despite the fear on her young face. 

“Woah, woah. Dead? Isn’t that a bit far Aunt Zee? Maybe Sybil just fell in a part of the water that wasn’t so deep and that’s why the spell’s not working.” Zelda climbs up to stand beside her niece and gives her shoulder a squeeze. 

“It is possible Sabrina. But you have tried other spells with no success.” She turns to the others. “Now, the water isn’t moving too quickly. If Sybil fell in she wouldn’t have gone far. Ambrose, Prudence, go get the other students. We will make a chain and cast it down the riverbank.” Zelda is impressed at her own ability to keep her voice level and matter of fact. Especially since the reality that they may be dragging a dead child out of the stream shortly makes every word out of her mouth taste like acid and feels like lead. 

Ambrose and Prudence give tight nods and start heading towards the other students. 

“And make sure everyone is in pairs!” Zelda calls after them. “We don’t know if anyone is responsible for this so we need to be safe.” 

“Is it witch hunters?” Sabrina exclaims. 

“Now we don’t know that,” Hilda murmurs. “Witch hunters haven’t been seen in Greendale for almost fifty years.”

“Yes, your Aunt is right.” Zelda continues. “And there are many forces in this forest that would want a young girl like Sybil.” 

It’s not exactly reassuring. 

When Ambrose and Prudence return with the students, Zelda is surprised to see Marie amongst them. Her dark eyes meet Zelda’s and shine with gentle sympathy.

When they first met, Marie’s gentleness rattled Zelda. It was irritating to have someone so open in her life. Hilda was an open person, but after a lifetime together Hilda knew where to push her and where to let go. Marie knew no such line. But Zelda has learned that that didn’t mean she doesn’t know boundaries. In fact, in the months they’ve been together Marie has shown nothing but respect for her boundaries. She wants Zelda to open up, and has said as such, but is willing to be patient and let it take as long as it takes.

The patience used to irk Zelda, it still sometimes does. But right now, her partner’s gentleness is soothing. There is no pity in her eyes, only steadiness. Zelda wants to reach for her and twine their fingers together. She wants Marie by her side to ground her.

But as Zelda orders the student into pairs and spreads them down the river, she sends Marie off with Hilda. There is so much Zelda cannot control at this moment. She cannot protect Agatha and Dorcas and the young ones. She cannot promise Hilda that they won’t lose one of their children tonight. She cannot ensure she can keep the rest of the students safe if things go wrong. Hells, if Lilith doesn’t answer one of the many prayers running through her head, Zelda cannot even guarantee she’ll have a Queen by the end of the night.

But Sabrina is standing before her, earnest and ready and Zelda can make sure she stays safe so as much as she would like Marie’s silent comfort, Zelda takes to the water’s edge with Sabrina at her side.

They spread out along the bank, far enough from each other to cover as much of the stream as possible. When they begin chanting the spell, each witch reaches their arms out and their magics pour from their hands and it stretches out for each other.

Zelda looks to her right and watches as the umber of her magic connects with the orange of Sabrina’s, while on her left the deep burgundy catches and holds to Hilda’s golden threads. She peers further down the line to watch as a mismatched rainbow stretches the length of the line. Hilda’s forest green to Marie’s warm yellow and from her bright magenta to Ambrose’s lively cobalt. His navy then tethers to Prudence’s pale grey and her azure secures to Melvin’s lavender. It continues onward until the link is complete and the spell grows in intensity.

Zelda finds herself growing louder in her chanting and she struggles to keep the desperation out of her voice. They had already lost so much, were just starting to feel normal in their lives again. She hadn’t thought her life was suddenly going to include eight small children. The house feels full these days and it’s not as awful as Zelda would have imagined. It’s a good kind of full.

Sybil had lost too much already in her short life. Like Felix, they weren’t sure where she had come from exactly; Faustus had sacrificed each of their parents in his attempt to grow his own power. She deserved more than to have her life end so quickly. 

The spell’s power swells at their continued chanting and starts to take the desired affect. All along the water neon green spots crop up. Each light that shines on the water makes Zelda’s heart freeze and her breathing stops. But as her eyes run down the stream, her lungs release; none of the glowing green markers are big enough to be a child.

Zelda drops her hands and the link breaks, everyone’s magic slinking back to their persons. The coven regroups with her and wait patiently for their next move. It is then Zelda eyes a section of the stream about ten feet away that is significantly shallower than the rest of the water. Shallow enough that it could be crossed without difficulty for an adult and would not be impossible for a child.

“I want half of you to stick to this side of the stream and the rest of you come with me.”

“Please remember to stay together!” Hilda reminds them as she follows Zelda across the water.

The fear that Sybil had drowned was fading in her mind, but as Zelda starts searching the woods, the thought doesn’t lessen her worry. Her worry, which is quite frankly, starting to give way to panic.

The winter had melted to spring but it was still early and the nights were cold. The sun is almost set already and a chill is coming in. Sybil is small and has clearly been in the water. If they don’t find her, the possibility of her freezing in the Greendale woods is very real.

Sybil likes the the cold, which Zelda always thought was odd for a child of her age.

_ “Sybil, please come out from the freezer.” Zelda called halfway down the aisle. _

_ She wanted to get out of this mortal town as quickly as possible. Hilda had insisted she needed a specific ingredient from the apothecary two towns over and Zelda said she would go, hoping a long drive would do her good. Sybil had asked to come with her and at first Zelda said no but then the little girl was pouting up at her, red curls falling all over her face as she bounced on her tip toes and Zelda couldn’t say no. _

_On their way home Zelda made a stop at the grocery store, hoping to save herself from having to make an extra trip and going to the one in Greendale. The store was small and Zelda was learning her fatal error of coming on a Sunday. The store was full of slow moving, bumbling mortals. Thankfully Sybil had been behaving very well, her little hand clasped dutifully on the leg of the cart as she walked alongside Zelda. She was a far cry from Sabrina at that age who used to add things to the cart and beg to keep them when Zelda told her to put them back. Though Zelda wondered if Sybil’s behaviour would change the more comfortable she became with the Spellmans. Like the other children in her home, no family had come forward to claim Sybil and none of the remaining witches in Greendale seemed keen on taking her. Zelda was almost certain this child was to be with them permanently, another Spellman to add to the tree. But she wondered if Sybil wasn’t sure of that yet so she behaved well to make Zelda and Hilda happy. She certainly hoped not; the little girl could be cheeky and sweet and Zelda didn’t want her stifling herself for their benefit._

_ They’d made their way to the frozen aisle and while Zelda stared wistfully at ice cream she would never buy, Sybil peeled away and pulled one of the freezer doors open. _

_ “But Zella,” Sybil whined, “It’s nice!” _

_ Zelda smirked at the girl’s nickname for her and rolled the cart over to her. She stepped behind the girl and the cold air blew over her, making Zelda wrinkle her nose. She was a woman who appreciated all seasons for what they had to give but liked temperatures in middle ground; anything too hot or too cold was not to her taste. But the little girl leaning back against her legs was smiling happily and gulping in deep breaths of cold air to then puff it out and giggle at her visible breath. _

_ “Why do you like the cold?” Zelda asked curiously. Sybil’s brow scrunched together as she tried to verbalize her feelings. Then she smiled brightly as something clicked in her eyes. _

_ “It’s like,” Sybil took a breath and blew it out against the skin of Zelda’s leg. “Like that, but everywhere!” _

_Zelda chuckled at the girl’s excitement and leaned down, picked her up and placed her on her hip. “Alright then. One more minute and then we go.” Sybil sighed contently and wrapped her arms around Zelda’s neck and settled her head against her shoulder._

_“Your daughter is adorable.” A voice came from behind them._

_“Excuse me?” Zelda said as she turned around and found a mortal woman who looked to be sixty years old standing there. She dressed like Hilda, all soft colours and even softer cardigans. Zelda wasn’t sure what that said about the woman or her sister._

_The woman smiled sweetly and motioned to Sybil. “You daughter, she’s very sweet.”_

_The child in question was watching the old woman through her curls, a timid smile on her face. She was a curious child Zelda had noted, but seemed to prefer following through on that curiosity at her own pace. As such, she didn’t move much from her watching spot and tightened her grip on Zelda ever so slightly._

_Zelda considered for a moment telling the woman that Sybil wasn’t her daughter but stopped herself. It had become habit for her and Hilda when Sabrina was young to correct people who thought she was their daughter. They’d done it more for Sabrina than the strangers who approached them; it was important to the sisters that Edward and Diana not be replaced._

_But Sabrina had always wanted her parents to be her parents. The children Zelda now housed however, including the one in her arms, didn’t seem to want that. They just wanted someone to say they were theirs._

_Zelda smiled softly at the women and turned to her girl, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Yes, I’m quite fond of her.” Zelda said gently, almost completely to Sybil. Her fingers delicately tickled her stomach and the little girl smiled shyly behind her hand._

Zelda sincerely hopes this night wouldn’t ruin Sybil’s love of the cold.

They’ve been searching for Sybil for over an hour. Not to mention the time Hilda and the students had tried searching without her. If only she was older, they could just summon her to them. As it was, for children under twelve, their bodies could simply not sustain the magical pull from one space to the next. So like all the other damnable facts of this night, it was a dead end.

“I should have kept a better eye on them.” Hilda’s voice is watery and Zelda doesn’t have to look to know her little sister has tears in her eyes. The older witch notes Sabrina is a little ways off with Marie and so she turns back to Hilda.

“This is not your fault.”

Hilda sniffs and gives a little shake of her head. “I was looking after them. I should have put a spell on the yard to keep them from getting into the woods. Maybe then Sybil wouldn’t have wandered off...” She’s wringing her hands again and guilt is wracking her features as a tear slips free. Zelda steps forward and takes her sister’s hands.

“Hilda, you hold our home together. You cook and clean, you’re running the mortuary almost completely by yourself these days, not to mention teaching classes at the Academy. You cannot be expected to see everything happening all of the time.”

Hilda worries her bottom lip and doesn’t look convinced. “Sybil is out here, freezing to death because-”

“Don’t say that.” Zelda clenches onto Hilda’s hands and sighs. “Do you remember when it was Sabrina out in the woods?” Hilda’s eyes go wide at the memory. “Her disappearance was my fault-” Hilda is immediately interjecting.

“It was not-”

“Hilda,” Zelda cuts in. “We fought, I upset her, and she ran away.” Hilda doesn’t look as sad now, instead she’s getting fired up to defend Zelda against herself. “But you made a point of telling me it wasn’t my fault.” Hilda loses some of her steam at seeing Zelda’s point. “Our girl is not missing because of anything you did.”

Hilda takes a deep breath and nods. Zelda doesn’t think her sister completely believes her, but then again she hadn’t really believed it when Hilda said it to her eight years ago either.

Remembering the time Sabrina ran fills Zelda with a confusing swirl of emotions. On the one hand, the fear and anxiety that had run through her then is running through her now and the memory of that night is amplifying her emotions now. On the other, that night had not ended in tragedy. They had found Sabrina hidden in a log, safe and sound. The thought of that pits against her dread and gives Zelda the slightest spark of hope.

It also gives her an idea.

“Hilda!” She exclaims. Hilda jolts. “Are your familiars out looking for Sybil?” Hilda’s face scrunches in confusion before she lights up entirely, falling in line with Zelda’s thoughts.

“No!” She says excitedly and turns back towards the direction of the house. She closes her eyes and whispers into the quiet forest air. She turns back to her older sister. “They should be with us shortly.” She’s beaming with new hope and Zelda can’t help but give a tentative smile back.

* * *

The spiders arrive in less than fifteen minutes, moving at such quick pace that they’re rolling over each other, a tiny wave on the forest floor. They lap at Hilda’s feet and separate with their instructions. 

The sun is gone and now they’re forced to cast illumination charms to show them the way. It makes things far more difficult because they don’t want to light the entire forest up and draw attention to themselves, but singular lights mean they could miss Sybil. 

“Aunties!” Sabrina screams. Zelda snaps her head up from the dead dropped tree she’s inspecting and ice fills her veins. 

“Sabrina?!” Hilda yells back, panic bubbling up in her tone. 

“Over here!” Their niece calls back. Zelda is up in a second, running to the sound of Sabrina’s voice. Hilda is behind her, but Zelda is faster, and she rounds the side of a thick tree to see Sabrina leaning over a thicket of cropped up roots. Her niece is reaching into a hole in the roots and Zelda knows she should stop her, take her place. Sabrina has seen enough in the last year, she doesn’t need to pull a dead child from a tree. 

But she can’t move, can’t speak. All she can do is stand there, breath coming far too shallowly and heart pounding so hard that it’s all she can hear. 

_ Please Lilith, please... _

A keening whimper breaks over the sound of the pounding in her ears.

_ Oh dear Lilith thank you. _

Sabrina pulls upward and Sybil comes scrambling out of the hole and over the roots. She seems disoriented as she looks up at Sabrina and tries to resist being picked up by her. Then her little face turns and sees Zelda and she’s crying out, small hands reaching for her past Sabrina’s arms.

Relief floods her and pushes her into motion and in three swift strides, she has the little girl scooped up in her arms. She’s freezing cold and Zelda presses her close, which is a feat considering how Sybil is practically trying to climb into her. Tiny teeth chatter through loud sobs and Zelda cradles frozen curls as she rubs a hand up and down the little girl’s small back.

“It’s alright,” She soothes. “You’re safe.”

Hilda is there in the next instant and she’s got an arm wrapped around as much of Zelda as she can, the other following her hand rubbing up and down. She presses her face against Sybil back and Zelda can hear her whispering warming spells around her own words of comfort. Ambrose comes bounding up to them and whips off his coat which Hilda gratefully accepts from her nephew and covers Sybil with it.

_We’re here, we’ve got you. You’re safe._

The words keep falling out of their mouths and Zelda finds she can’t stop saying it. Hilda sounds like she’s going to cry again and Zelda is ashamed to admit she’s not that far off herself. But she doesn’t want to scare Sybil more than she already is so she takes a deep breath and just keeps repeating the gentle, soft words into the little girl’s ear.

“Momma, Momma, Momma...” Sybil wails and Zelda doesn’t know if she’s calling for her birth mother or her or Hilda. The students are gathered all around them she notes and it makes Zelda remember the larger concern she’s had for the last few hours.

“Sybil,” She says softly and pulls back, urging the child to look her in the eye, “Did someone bring you out here? Into the forest?” Hilda keeps running her hand over Sybil’s back.

“Love, this is very important.” Hilda encourages. Sybil has calmed herself enough that her tears are no longer running but she’s still breathing in great heavy gulps. She looks to Hilda, to Zelda, and then her hand which has warmed up enough to tightly grip Zelda’s coat.

“No,” She says quietly. “I wanted to hide the best, but I, I went in the woods,” Sybil’s lip wobbles and she hiccups. “I got lost, and, and I fell in the water and I didn’t know where I was.” The sobbing begins again in full but she tries to keep eye contact with Zelda, who wipes at the tears rolling down her cheek. “I didn’t listen to Mommy Hildie and I’m sorry! I’m sorry Momma.” With that, Sybil collapses against Zelda and buries her face against her neck.

There’s a relieved sigh from Zelda and a tender gasp from Hilda.

“It’s okay my darling,” Her sister assures, pressing kisses on Sybil’s back. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

“Hildie is right,” Zelda kisses the top of the child’s head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Zelda looks to her side and sees Marie standing there. Always there when she needs her. Now that Sybil is safe in her arms and the threat of witch hunters and the like has passed, Zelda feels quite weak. Her legs want to give out beneath her and her heart continues to pound. Zelda reaches out a shaking hand and Marie is there, sliding their fingers together and holding her hand in both of hers. Like she had hoped, it steadies her and Zelda finds her voice to call her coven home.

* * *

They trudge back to the house, palms lighting their way. Sybil has opted to be carried by Hilda and Zelda doesn’t mind. She knows the child is safe and if Sybil wants to cuddle the mother she disobeyed to feel better, then that is alright with her.

_ Mother. _

It had been her that Sybil was calling for after all. Zelda doesn’t think she should be surprised, really. She and her sister had been clothing, feeding and caring for these children for months. No wonder they had come to see them as mother figures. Hilda is the clear choice for mother, with all her soft words and cuddles. And the little ones have less and less trouble every day accepting the new family they are in. The older children are harder, they have clear memories of their parents who will never come home. While Hilda is the clear choice, perhaps Zelda’s own consistency and safety has made her a mother in their eyes.

And really, this is exactly what she and Hilda wanted when they agreed to raise the twins together, to be mothers together. So why was she so shocked to be called one?

“What are you thinking?” Marie murmurs. They are walking hand in hand back to the house. After the day she’s had, Zelda affords herself a public display of affection. Her partner’s soft voice pulls her up from her musings.

“My family.” Zelda says lowly. They’ve reached the cottages and students start to fall away at their sides, back into their homes. Up head, Hilda calls to them and tells them to come the house for dinner tonight.

“You are very lucky  _ ma chérie _ ,” Marie says with a smile. And she is, in more ways than one. “You have a beautiful family.”

* * *

When they reach the back step of the house, Sybil is twisting in Hilda’s arms and reaching for Zelda. Marie lets go with an understanding nod and Zelda takes the child, who wraps herself as much as she can around Zelda. 

Prudence had run ahead to fetch her sisters from the safe room and the chatter of children is coming from the parlour when everyone steps into the house. In a second, a wave of children come bursting into the kitchen. They surround them, small hands grabbing and anxious eyes looking up at them. They all want to know how Sybil is and the red headed little girl lifts her head from Zelda’s shoulder to show her siblings that she’s alright. 

Hilda abandons the meal she was starting earlier and declares they’ll order pizza for dinner. That earns squeals from the children and a holler from Ambrose. 

Her niece, nephew, and step daughter slip away upstairs to change into clean clothes and once Zelda has reassured the young ones that everything is fine she leaves the kitchen as well with Sybil securely in her arms. She checks in on her babies babbling to each other in a playpen in the parlour before taking Sybil upstairs for a warm bath. 

The pizza arrives and though Sybil is tired Zelda takes her downstairs to eat. The little girl won’t allow her to put her down and so she sits with Zelda, coming more alive as she eats and talks with her brothers and sisters. It’s a good sign but Zelda suspects the effects of today will come back to haunt the girl. She hopes not but is not optimistic.

Zelda watches down the table. First to Hilda who is laughing at something Dorcas has said. Then to Prudence who is deep in conversation with Agatha. Sabrina is retelling the story of their night to the young ones, hands flying as she recounts how the spiders found Sybil. Ambrose chimes in here and there, to make sure the story stays child friendly in between making sure Leticia is eating. Behind him, the second table full of student is loud with lively discussion. To her left, Marie is at the head of the table, cooing at Roland. And safely in her lap is sweet Sybil.

Yes, her house is quite full. But it’s the good kind of full. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I slipped a little Marie/Zelda in there because I’m trying to get the feel for them. I had a little scene with them planned for the end but it didn’t really feel right to the chapter so maybe I’ll do a separate add on chapter for them.


	3. Rooftop Confessions - Ambrose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Father Blackwood’s death, Ambrose’s feelings from the last several months catch up with him. He and Zelda have a late night chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took a while to update but I hope you like it! 
> 
> A little warning - I mention how Faustus meets his end and it’s not pretty. It’s not overly descriptive but it’s an easy visual if you’re not a fan of gore. It’s the last few lines of the italicized flashback

The house is quiet, finally. These days it seems the only quiet can be found after nine when all the children are tucked into bed. And while this is the only real time Zelda has to herself these days, she finds she’s so tired tonight that she’s going to turn herself in and it’s barely past ten.

The auburn witch, already changed into her night gown and robe, creeps downstairs to make herself a calming cup of tea. They’re running low on it, she makes a note for herself to collect a new batch from the greenhouse. Zelda frowns as the tea steeps; maybe she should stop drinking it every night.

The last several months have been hard. Harder than Zelda would like to admit.When she had so cavalierly declared herself High Priestess, she didn’t realize how weary it would make her. She had, during Edward’s time as High Priest, run day to day operations from time to time. But both Edward and Faustus had had it easy really. They had stepped into a position where everything was already set. They didn’t have to build a religion from the ground up or convince others to follow that path.

And there had been very little grace period to get her house in order. Within two weeks the council came calling, wanting to know what had happened to Faustus and Methuselah. In the end, Zelda had strayed not too far from the truth. There had been a power struggle in Hell, and it had erupted into Greendale. Lilith had overpowered the Dark Lord and taken the throne. Faustus had died trying to defend the Dark Lord and Methuselah had been killed by Lilith’s own hand when he claimed they would never follow her. But having seen Lilith’s great power, Zelda had turned her coven to worship the woman.

The latter lie means nothing to her, so long as the blame didn’t fall on Hilda. The former makes her stomach twist. It wasn’t the impending possibility of getting caught that had worried her; Zelda had been certain Faustus wouldn’t just appear and ruin their story and out them to the council. And now that he was dead, he certainly wasn’t going to be telling anyone anything. 

But the lie they created has made her husband a hero in the council’s eyes. They’re a little slow on the uptake and refuse to pray or worship Lilith. Though Zelda is starting to hear rumours that the covens who weren’t worshipping were beginning to lose their powers. So be it, let them see how long they can go without it before they replace Lucifer in their prayers. Hopefully the insufferable old ones will die quickly before they find it in themselves for a change.

Still, no matter how many of them fall in line, they will still think of Faustus as a great man. But he was a coward and a misogynist - not unlike the rest of the council. They would never see him for what he was or see the atrocities he’d committed against his own coven.

Or the ones he’d committed against his own wife.

Zelda looks out to the back of the property where yesterday they had burned Faustus face down until nothing remained but ash. There was physically nothing left of Faustus Blackwood in this world and yet still he lingered in the back of Zelda’s mind.

She blinks and pulls herself away from the window. She separates her tea and takes the cup upstairs. Zelda deposits the tea on the small table in the hall and makes her final check on the young witches. She peers in first on Sabrina, pleased to see her niece is resting peacefully. Salem, who is curled at the base of Sabrina’s bed, lifts his head to the sound of the door opening. As he does every night, he tilts his head and stares at her placidly for a minute before lowering his head again and closing his eyes. Zelda gently closes the door and eases down the hall to the nursery.

She tip toes in and gazes down on her children in their cribs. Leticia sleeps rather still once she falls asleep and has not shifted from where Zelda placed her several hours ago. Roland, she is learning, wiggles around in his sleep and is now lying diagonally in his crib. Zelda reaches in and shifts him back as delicately as possible. He is heavier than she remembers him being. The missed time between them makes Zelda’s heart ache. But she is so very glad to have them home safe.

Next is the children’s room. For the moment, the six young witches all sleep in the same room. Although Zelda is sure that won’t last. They range from the ages of three to ten and no doubt the older ones will begin to complain about the sleeping arrangements. Zelda stops by the bed containing the youngest of the child witches, Miles. The toddler has his face wedged against the railing of his small bed. She smiles as she gently tugs his snoring form back to the centre of the bed and eases his stuffed rabbit back into his arms when he shifts about.

At the end of the row, Zelda notices that Felix has thrown his blankets off completely in his sleep. It’s unsurprising, the child is in a new environment, far from everything he has known. It’s only been a few days but the boy is already starting to show signs of acting out. Hilda says that patience will be key. He’s only nine, he’s scared, and everyone he has ever loved is dead. Zelda suspects he will be a handful and perhaps more than Hilda expects, but Zelda looks at the sleeping boy in sympathy and pulls the covers up around him. His tight dark curls cover his brow and he could use a haircut but they are too far from him trusting the sisters for that, so it will have to wait.

Finally, cup in hand, Zelda makes her way up the stairs to the attic, avoiding the stairs she knows will creak just in case Ambrose is asleep. It’s still early for her night owl of a nephew so she doubts it, but she does it nonetheless. The auburn witch gives a soft knock on the door and when she gets no answer, she pushes the door open.

There are a few candles burning and several books open on the desk but Ambrose is no where to be seen. Zelda frowns as she steps fully into the room to look around. She is pretty sure Ambrose wasn’t on the main floor and he hadn’t mentioned going out; after all he had just gotten back.

_ The family was in the middle of dinner. The students had moved back into the Academy a week ago so the table was not quite so hectic. It was a shame not to have Melvin helping in the kitchen, and Zelda missed her nightly game of chess with Agatha - the girl was the only one to offer her a challenge. But the four unclaimed children still made the table lively enough. Though as Zelda contemplated the people at her table, it was hard not to think of those who were missing. They hadn’t heard from Ambrose or Prudence in two weeks. Zelda missed having her level headed nephew around. _

_ “-magicae!” _

_ Suddenly there was a loud crash in the entry way. Everyone froze at the table and Zelda stood, telling the children to stay where they were. She strode out of the kitchen, hand raised and spell ready only to stop dead once she rounded the stairs. One of the pedestals had been knocked over and her mother’s china vase was in shattered fragments on the carpet. _

_ And standing up from a kneeling position, was her nephew. It was as if he had read her thoughts. _

_ “Ambrose,” She breathed. The spell dissolved in her hand and Zelda was rushing forward before she really had time to think about it. She gathered Ambrose in her arms and crushed him to her. “Thank Lilith you’re all right.” The new praise fell easily from her lips and she squeezed a little harder. _

_“Auntie, Auntie,” Ambrose groaned, “You’re crushing me.” Zelda released him and took a little step back. As she did, her heel bumped against something. Zelda glanced down and gasped._

_“I brought you something,” Ambrose said, though his teasing tone and coy smile did not match his weary look. Zelda knelt down and ran her hand over the two dark wicker bassinet baskets. Sleeping contently inside were Leticia and Judas. Zelda tentatively reached her hands out and laid them on their tiny chests, the thrum of their hearts proving to her they were really there._

_“Ambrose!” Hilda squealed. She barrelled into him at the same speed as Zelda had and Zelda had to drag Leticia’s basket out of the way for fear her sister would knock it over. She cupped his face in her hands, a watery smile on her face. “My dear, I’m so glad you’re back!” Then her sister hugged their nephew so tight Zelda swore she heard his bones crack._

_“Um, about that...”_

_“Cousin!” Sabrina joined them and Hilda folded her into the hug she still hadn’t released Ambrose from. “I’m happy you’re okay.” Ambrose tousled her hair and stepped away from them._

_“I am, but I’m not here to stay. I’ve already wasted enough time, I have to go back.”_

_“Preposterous,” Zelda exclaimed. “At least sit down and finish dinner with us.”_

_“You can take some back to Prudence.” Hilda offered._

_“That’s why I have to get back Aunties,” Ambrose’s voice was giving way to a hint of panic. “Prudence and I found Father Blackwood. Prudence told me to get the children out,” He swallowed. “She was going after him herself.”_

_Hilda glanced anxiously at Zelda. Prudence was a talented witch but it wasn’t likely she could take Faustus on and win._

_“And it’s not just the babes I brought back,” Ambrose said quickly. He turns around and Zelda followed his eyes to two children pressed back against the wall, hidden almost completely in shadow. One was a boy, the other a girl. “Meet Felix and Sybil.”_

_Zelda could feel Hilda standing more directly behind her. More specifically, she could feel her sister’s magic throb sympathetically, tinged with a current of worry._

_Just then, there was a heavy thump on the second floor. Zelda eyed Ambrose and Hilda and raised a finger. If Ambrose came straight from wherever Faustus was, he could have followed him here._

_“Stay here.”_

_She rushed up the stairs, and for the second time that night had a spell prepared on hand. But when she turned the hall, Zelda found herself face to face with a panting Prudence. She’d clearly been through a couple of rounds with her father because besides the scraped up clothing, she was also sporting a cut to her head and there was a piece of rebar sticking out of her side. In one hand, Prudence held her sword and it was dripping in blood. Clutched tightly in the other, Zelda was just noticing, was her husband’s head. And the cause of the noise had been his headless body hitting the hallway floor._

_“Prudence,” Zelda said in shock._

_“I think,” Prudence panted and swayed, “I think I got my landing wrong.” Her eyes fluttered and she collapsed to floor, Faustus’ head slipping from her hand and rolling limply on the carpet._

He’s only been back for a few days, surely he hadn’t taken off again already? And certainly not without saying goodbye? Zelda looks around the room more carefully this time and notices the window above her nephew’s bed is open.

_Ah_.

Zelda steps around the bed and places her cup on the ledge. She steps out, one foot planted firmly on the edge of the roof. There’s enough room for both feet without worrying about falling so Zelda grabs the upper edge of the window and hauls herself to a standing position. Her knees groan in protest and Zelda frowns. It’s been a while since she’s had to be agile enough to get on the roof. The older witch reaches for her tea but it’s just out of her grasp and she can’t grab it without releasing her hold on the roof so she sighs and let’s it go. She slowly works her way around the edge of the window and up the roof. On her way up, Zelda is thankful her nephew’s room is on the back of the house, the roofing is far less steep than the front. Because, and she’s loathe to admit it, Zelda doesn’t think she could climb the front roof anymore.

At the top of the ridge is a plateau and that is where she finds Ambrose, seated on a blanket, staring at the stars.

“Enjoying the view, my dear felon?” Zelda asks. But the joke falls short as Ambrose hums but doesn’t take his eyes off the sky, and gives a small smile that doesn’t nearly reach his eyes. Zelda seats herself down beside him, stretches out her legs and leans back on her palms behind her.

“How did you know I was up here?”

“Oh please,” Zelda chides, “You’ve been coming out here ever since you learned you could climb the roof.” He had been thirteen years old and one sunny afternoon when Hilda was planting flowers in the yard, Ambrose had crawled out the window and gone up as high as he could. Nearly gave poor Hilda a heart attack.

This earns the older witch a real chuckle though it’s still not the deep laugh she associates with Ambrose.

“I think the adrenaline is wearing off,” Ambrose says suddenly. “We’re not fighting the Dark Lord and Father Blackwood is dead.” He shifts and pulls himself cross legged. “Gives you a lot of time to think.”

“Too much thinking can be a dangerous thing.” Zelda responds. They’re her mother’s words and Zelda used to think they meant that thinking was a dangerous game for pretty girls because it made them want for things they’d never have. But more recently Zelda thinks her mother meant more than that. She’s been lucky to having been keeping busy the last month because when she stops to think too much, she goes cold all over, it makes her skin itch.

Now Ambrose is starting to experience what she, and no doubt everyone in the coven, was experiencing. Of course the easiest way to put it off was to not slow down enough to think.

“You could always travel,” Zelda offers. “You’re free from your sentence. You could go anywhere in the world.” Zelda takes her eyes off the sky and looks to the mountains. “I find I never think too much when I’m travelling.”

“Do you want me to go?” Ambrose asks shortly.

“No.” Zelda responds definitively, slightly choked up. Her hand shoots out catch his and she looks at him. Really looks at him. Her boy is tired, she can see the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag. More than that, there is a dullness that pervades him. It’s echoed in his magic, the normally lively spirals of cobalt and navy now move languidly and muted. Zelda hasn’t seen it this faded since the height of his depression twenty years previous.

She tugs on his hand and Ambrose finally looks at her. He stares at her and for a minute she thinks he is trying to discern if she is telling the truth. He seems satisfied with what he sees in her eyes and blinks and tips he face back to the sky.

She could ask directly what was wrong. Or she could try to needle it out of him like Hilda. But they’ve never operated like that so Zelda sits in silence with Ambrose. If he wants to tell her he will. If not, well, he’ll tell her eventually.

“I waited for you.” Ambrose whispers some time later.

“Hmm?” Zelda hums. She’s not distracted, she’s clearly heard what her nephew has said. But she doesn’t know where he’s going with this so she follows his lead and keeps her eyes on the stars. Ambrose was prone to confess more if he didn’t have to make eye contact.

“When I was in the witch’s cell,” Zelda’s heart drops. “I was awaiting execution for a crime I did not commit. And I waited for you.” Ambrose shoots a glare at her for half a second and looks away again. “But you never came.”

“I wanted to,” Zelda croaks, her throat suddenly very thick. “Faustus wanted to execute you the night of our wedding,” Ambrose pales from the corner of her eye. “I barely convinced him to let you live until we got back. I wasn’t afforded the time nor did I think I could risk coming to see you that night.” She sighs. “And then of course, when we got back...” Zelda trails off. She’s not comfortable thinking about her time under the spell, much less talking about it to anyone.

Ambrose squeezes her hand and now he shifts to face her. “Sabrina told me about the Caligari spell.” Zelda rolls her eyes.  _Blasted child_ . But Ambrose’s tone is quiet and gentle and while Zelda also doesn’t like admitting things face to face, her nephew has already started to open himself up so she owes it to him to do the same. So the auburn witch peels her eyes away from the sky and looks at her nephew. 

“Yes, I was quite immobile for a spot of time.” She admits and picks at a spot on her robe.

“You know, Aunt Hilda is great for a cuddle and a pep talk.” Zelda’s brow furrows; she couldn’t tell if Ambrose was suggesting she seek out her sister or merely stating a fact. “But when things are serious, I always look to you.”

Oh.

“I waited for days in that wretched cell for when you would come back. I kept expecting you to come to me with a plan, a way out. But I was marched to the chopping block and you just stood there with a smile on your face.” His eyes aren’t on her anymore, but staring out somewhere behind her. But there are tears there and his lip trembles. “I thought you had abandoned me.” He sounds so heartbroken and sitting there before her Ambrose looks more like the scared child Hilda had brought home from England than the steadfast young man Zelda knew him to be.

She wants to engulf him in a hug but waits. Words are more important here than physical affection so she settles for sitting up straight and turns his palm into hers so she can hold his hand properly. Her hand is now so small in his, and she struggles to remember the delicate patterns Hilda used to trace on his palm when he was young and anxious. If she could remember maybe it would help.

“Now you here me Ambrose Spellman,” Zelda says voice featherlight but with a current of steel running through it, “I will never abandon you, not by choice.” The fact her choice to protect her family against all had been taken from her does nothing to soothe her own guilty conscience. “When you call, I shall come.And if you do not find me standing right beside you, it is because all the forces of Hell are trying to hold me back.” She quirks her lips a little and tries to meet his eyes which are held firmly on their joined hands. “And they will not succeed.”

Her conviction to protect her family is the only thing she has ever truly been sure of her entire life. She speaks these words to her nephew and believes them with all her heart. She would go down screaming and taking anyone who tried to hurt her family with her.

But it is not her belief here that matters. It matters if Ambrose believes her.

Ambrose looks back at the sky and shifts his body away from her but doesn’t let go of her hand.

“I was afraid Auntie,” Ambrose whispers and tears slide down his face. He sounds so ashamed and his shoulders start to shake. Zelda scoots closer until that shaking shoulder is pressed against her own. Try as she might she still cannot remember the soothing patterns her sister used though she thinks it might be the thing to bring her boy some calm.

“There is no shame in being afraid.” Zelda whispers back. It is quite something, Zelda thinks, to believe a statement when it involves her nephew and yet does not believe it when it pertains to herself. But Ambrose knows her hypocrisy and his face scrunches tight and he shakes his head.

“I think there is.”

They sit, shoulder to shoulder, his eyes on the stars, hers on the mountains.

“I shouldn’t have gotten tangled up with Faustus.” She shouldn’t be admitting this to Ambrose. He is under her care, he is hers and it is not his responsibility to know what burdens her. But perhaps here, with the night wrapped all around them, they can both admit their shame. “If I wasn’t marrying him, I could have slit his throat for trying to hurt you.”

“You thought you were protecting us.” Ambrose supplies. His tone is flat but there is a hint of understanding there. Zelda takes in a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. How much had she wanted her family to understand this when she was getting married? But Sabrina cried out about marrying for love and while Hilda said nothing, Zelda knew her sister pitied her for marrying for power and security. Ambrose had joked as the boy was wont to do, she didn’t realize he had seen what she was trying to accomplish.

Better late than never she supposes bitterly.

“Look what good that did,” Zelda mutters. If he was going to wallow, she might as well do the same. Ambrose huffs. They sit in silence.

“You weren’t the only one to choose Father Blackwood.” Her nephew admits after a stretch.

Oh, Zelda doesn’t know if she has the heart to go over this particular subject tonight. She could listen to Ambrose tell her he felt abandoned in the witch’s cell, she could even admit to her own incapacity, but she didn’t want to go down this road. But this evening, as Zelda keeps reminding herself, is about Ambrose.

“I don’t know why I do this,” Ambrose says. “Crowley, Blackwood. I seek out men to fill some part of my life I think I’m missing.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I am charmed by them, feel accepted by them and then the next thing you know I’m trying to blow up the Vatican or murdering someone.”

Zelda has given up trying to remember the exact pattern Hilda used to trace Ambrose’s palm and starts tracing delicate paths at random.

“Sabrina doesn’t have father and she’s not searching for one.” Ambrose pays no attention to what she’s doing, it’s almost as if he’s talking more to himself than to her. “Why do I feel the need to?”

Zelda immediately thinks it’s because she hasn’t done enough to make him want to stay. She knows that Hilda has similar misgivings, wonders why they are not enough for their boy. But Hilda is good mother. She loves with all she has and isn’t afraid to show it. Her sister has always been that way.

Zelda is the cold, tough sister who smokes and drinks too much. It wouldn’t surprise her if Ambrose and Sabrina eventually pull away. Zelda feels so very much -sometimes too much- but has never been good at verbalizing her feelings, she’s always done better displaying her affection through her actions. But those don’t always get noticed as much as declarations and Zelda is left to wonder if those she loves most know just how much she loves them.

Zelda doesn’t think that’s the answer Ambrose is looking for so she chooses a safer option. “You and I grew up in age where we were told we needed fathers.” Neither of their fathers had been particularly good men. They certainly left their children with their fair share of demons. Zelda tries to turn this around. She looks at Ambrose, takes in his tear tracks, the way his beautiful dark eyes are filled with so much pain and her heart aches for him. “Love is a broader definition than that.”

“That’s what I don’t understand Auntie.” Her nephew says exasperatedly, his voice rising. He waves his free hand and only then seems to notice that Zelda has the other. He sniffles and pinches his brow together. Ambrose watches Zelda, watches as she tries to find the right tracing pattern. He reaches for her wrist and guides her fingers into the right rhythm. As she completes the correctlines, Ambrose’s eyes drop shut and his shoulders sag. He sighs and when he opens his eyes he looks directly at Zelda. “You and Aunt Hilda have loved me all of my life. You are my family. So why do I keep running away from that?” His eyes are wide and questioning and he is so desperate for an answer. Zelda speaks what she fears is the answer.

“Perhaps we haven’t given you everything you need,” Zelda offers, her voice tight. Ambrose immediately gives his head a hard shake.

“But you have!” He insists. “I, I have never been afraid of falling.” His sincerity is melting her and Zelda has tears in her eyes again. “Because I know you’re always there to catch me. Your love isn’t conditional, you’ve never asked me to change, you love me just as I am. That’s all I should need!”

“Oh dear one,” Zelda sighs. She cups his face with her free hand and rubs at his heated cheek. Now she does take him into her arms and he comes willingly, folding himself into her. Zelda can remember so clearly when Ambrose was small enough to put him on her lap and curl his body into hers, small head pressed against her heart. Now he dwarfs her when he hugs her but he needs her just as much he needed her then. Zelda wants to say something encouraging. She thinks about what Hilda would say but it’s all too sweet. Ambrose had said he turned to her when things are tough, he’s not looking for Hilda’s sweet advice. Her nephew wants her realistic point of view. Zelda rubs a hand down Ambrose’s back, pausing to let her nails scratch inbetween his shoulder blades. The older witch tuts and looks up into the inky sky, finding her own brand of advice.

“Well, sometimes some lessons take a couple of wrong tries to learn.” It seems apt, her relationship with Faustus and Ambrose’s desire for a father are clear proof of that.

“What if I make the same mistake again?” Ambrose asks unsure against her neck.

“I won’t stop you from making your own decisions. Perhaps you will find someone you who gives you what you’re looking for,” She hates admitting it, acknowledging that there might something she and Hilda cannot give him. But if Zelda’s family had taught her anything it was that family is the people you choose to love. It was not bound by blood and if there is someone out in the world who can give Ambrose a father figure, Zelda will not stand in the way. She wants her boy to have as much love in his life as possible.

Zelda pulls back and takes her nephew’s face in both hands. Although neither of them were particularly good at keeping eye contact, Zelda locks eyes with Ambrose because this is important. “But no matter what happens, your Aunt Hilda and I will always be right here if you need us.”

Ambrose makes a choked little noise in his throat but sniffles and smiles, finally a smile that Zelda recognizes. She smiles back and pulls him in, placing a kiss on his cheek and another on his temple. Ambrose releases a relieved sigh and settles back against his aunt.

They sit like that for a while, even though Ambrose couldn’t possibly be comfortable hunched over like he was, and despite having her nephew’s perpetually warm body heating her front, Zelda’s fingers are stiffening the in cold evening air. She wants to go back to the subject of Ambrose feeling abandoned while he was imprisoned but that will have to wait for another night. They’re both emotionally spent and Zelda is content to just hold Ambrose close for as long as he’ll let her.

She holds him until she’s unable to suppress the shiver that has been building up as the night air nipped at her skin. Ambrose feels the shudder and immediately sits up and looks her over.

“You’re cold.” He states. Ambrose rubs his large hands up and down her arms. Even when he’s not at his best her boy looks out for others. He’s always been a kind, thoughtful person and while Zelda knows he gets that from Hilda she can’t help but be proud of him for it.

“As much as I’d like to stay,” Zelda says sincerely. “I think I better turn in.” Ambrose nods silently. He helps his aunt up and she groans at finding her knees have also stiffened in the cold. Zelda turns to go and Ambrose catches her wrist.

“Thank you Auntie.” He whispers. Zelda smiles softly and leans up to kiss his forehead.

“Of course sweetheart.” She responds softly. Zelda retreats to the edge of the plateau and because she just can’t help herself she raises an eyebrow and says “Don’t stay up to late. Try and get some sleep, hmm?”

Ambrose gives her an appeasing smile and small nod. “Yes Aunt Zee.”

“Good boy.”

Her praise makes him shine and it’s the last thing Zelda sees before she leaves the roof.

Her tea is long cold but Zelda dances her fingers over it, warming it enough to sip as she descends from the attic and finally makes it to her own room. It’s just past midnight and she has to be up in six hours, definitely not the solid sleep Zelda had been looking for.

But as Zelda runs through her nightly routine and settles into bed, she finds shedoesn’t mind. 


	4. Your Move - Agatha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha understands that she tried to kill the coven. But she’s tired of being treated poorly by Zelda Spellman. Hilda gives her some insight that sets Agatha on the right path to set things right.

She is positive that Zelda Spellman hates her.

The older witch is very diplomatic about it. She was raised with a strict sense of propriety so unlike the young witches, she’s not likely to come outright with her displeasure. Zelda is known for making snarky comments from time to time but Agatha doesn’t find herself the recipient of those either. To someone on the outside, it would not look like Zelda hated Agatha.

But Agatha knows better.

It is Mother Spellman’s lack of effort towards her that tells the young witch what she needs to know. Zelda will help her if she struggles with her course work and Agatha is a member of Zelda’s very small coven so the matriarch isn’t going to kick her out. But beyond the bare minimum required of her, Zelda Spellman probably cares very little what happens to her.

Agatha had lost her mind to the pagans and reaped terrible destruction upon her coven. She had almost killed Dorcas and that alone is inexcusable. Her sister has already forgiven her, but Agatha does not miss the way she flinches when she catches Dorcas by surprise.

But Dorcas had grown up an orphan and was unlikely to turn her back on the only family she had ever known. Not even when Prudence started giving Agatha the cold shoulder. Agatha hopes that will resolve itself shortly but given she had been aware of Prudence’s brutal second harrowing and did nothing, only to then try and kill them all doesn’t make her optimistic. Zelda had grown up with droves of family all her life, and knew the value of family loyalty. It was something Agatha had always admired in the older woman because she was sure that if anyone ever hurt Prudence and Dorcas - harrowing and her own hand aside - she would experience the same bloodlust Zelda Spellman did in protecting her own.

Agatha had hurt her own and Zelda could not forgive her for it. Most days it doesn’t bother her; she hadn’t been particularly close to Zelda before the church had been poisoned, why should it matter to her now that Zelda didn’t want to be?

But some days, like today, it does bother her. She’s sitting in the grass after dinner reading. The Spellman library was more diverse than the selection at the Academy and Agatha was fascinated by the mortal books and stories they told. There was a whole section of romance novels, no doubt curated by Hilda. Agatha pretends to have no interest in such silly things as mortal romance novels. But secretly, she finds them quite exciting. Such flighty love is something so foreign to Agatha and it draws her back for book after book.

She’s currently working her way through a book about a coven of young mortal girls called ‘ _Little Women_ ’. Agatha hides her book behind a larger text on weather based magic because Lilith forbid anyone think she’s anything like the soft Spellman sister.

Zelda sits in a wooden chair, baby Leticia in her lap, watching the rest of her coven laugh and dance around the yard. The weather is warm enough in the evening now to be out for several hours even as the sun goes down and Hilda had suggested a fireside feast. The older students had come from their cottages and Ambrose pulled a cooking device called a barbecue out from the shed. There were grilled vegetables and chicken and fruits and cheese. They laid blankets out and they ate by the bonfire. Sabrina had been quite delighted to light the fire herself and managed this time to keep the blaze within the confines of the large fire pit.

Agatha tries not to watch Zelda bounce the baby on her lap while she leans in to hear something Prudence says next to her. The older witch doesn’t take her eyes off the younger children playing tag, cautiously aware as they run close to the fire. She smiles indulgently at whatever Prudence has said and Prudence preens at the attention, quickly hiding her glee by turning to peek down at Roland playing in the laundry basket Hilda had left.

Hilda is off somewhere in the house as Agatha has noticed is the routine in the evening. Hilda keeps an eye on the smaller children in the morning and gets them off to the Academy before doing whatever it is she does during the day. From the moment she comes home it seems to be Zelda’s turn, and she watches and entertains the children before dinner and then after until bed.

Zelda reaches her hand out and her fingers dance in the air, pulling delicate strings of rainbow coloured light out of nothing and pushing them towards the children. The lights catch their eyes and small ones squeal, chasing the lights as fast as their small legs will take them away from the fire. Henry almost trips over Agatha’s leg and she restrains herself from scowling for she is sure Zelda is watching.

Agatha waits a minute and then watches over the edge of her book and in this moment, wishes Zelda didn’t despise her. Then she could sit with her and Prudence and smile too at whatever they’re whispering to each other about. 

Agatha looks around and wonders where Dorcas has wandered off to. Probablyconvinced one of the boys to go back to the cottage.

Sometimes, she wishes the Dark Lord hadn’t instilled in them such a fervour for seeking selfish pleasures. If they were all a little more considerate, maybe Dorcas wouldn’t have abandoned her.

Then again, given recent events, she probably still would have.

The women in her book now completely forgotten, Agatha spies on the two in their chairs, trying to be subtle. Zelda is explaining the spell she’s just used to Prudence, correcting her pronunciation, and then congratulating her as Prudence sends her own colourful wisps wafting over to the children.

Zelda will never make that effort for Agatha. Agatha is something the older witch simply tolerates. All her life Agatha had been a tolerance. The sisters at the orphanage tolerated her like they did the other children. Her teachers tolerated her because what she didn’t have in status she made up for with her academic brilliance. Father Blackwood had no real interest in teaching or bettering her though, and tolerated her for her connection to Prudence. She had sincerely hoped when Zelda ascended to High Priestess she would have a teacher who _wanted_ to make an effort with her.

The disheartening thing of it was Agatha had been certain that was where things were headed with Zelda. When the Spellman’s had opened their home to the coven after Father Blackwood’s massacre, Agatha had been restless. Her body was weak from the poison she’d ingested so she couldn’t help with the renovations to the Academy and she still couldn’t make it to the library without feeling shaky. Then one night in her second week, Agatha had discovered a chess board in the parlour. She tried to convince Dorcas to have a game with her but Dorcas had whined and moved to her corner of the room for some sleep. It wasn’t too great a loss, Dorcas wasn’t a great player and Agatha always won. So Agatha set up the board to play herself when Zelda had walked in to check on them. She asked if Agatha favoured the game and then if she would like an opponent. Agatha agreed and was delighted to have a rather good playing partner. The games had become an almost nightly ritual while Agatha lived at the mortuary. They had started almost completely in silence but had evolved into discussions of Agatha’s magical interests and Zelda’s globetrotting adventures. Before everything had gone so terribly wrong, Zelda had promised to help Agatha with her extra interests that went beyond what was being taught in the curriculum.

It could be argued that she had not been in control of herself for quite some time; first with the Dark Lord’s beetle and then with the pagans. But Agatha knows that everything she did came from a deep place in herself. It wasn’t the Dark Lord or the pagans that made her a killer; she had killed before in her life, was sure she would kill again, and had never had a distaste for it.

The pagans had made all her thoughts, her darkness, and her insecurities rise to the surface and scrambled them together. When she thinks back to that time, it’s hard for Agatha to focus on a single memory. Everything is frenzied and the memories expand and bleed into the next, vibrating in and out of focus so quickly she can barely place where she was or what she was doing. The dark haired witch winces as she recalls the piercing pitch noise that had accompanied the memories. The noise had made her constantly dizzy, it’s a wonder she managed to cause as much damage as she did.

The Dark Lord’s beetle was less excusable. It had merely removed her inhibitions, making her feel delightfully pleasant at poking fun at her head mistress. And poking was something Agatha had always been especially good at, needling and scraping away at a person’s soft spots until they feebly crawled away the tend to their wounds.

She was taught to be cruel and was good at it.

She’s caught in her musing by Zelda who shoots a look at her that Agatha can’t quite place but it makes her squirm. She supposes that’s what she gets for staring but it makes her feel unwelcome nonetheless, and she finds herself closing her book and standing, darting up the lawn quickly.

Agatha pauses at the foot of the porch, realizing she didn’t have a plan when she left. She’d just known she couldn’t stand another look like that from Zelda, not tonight. Her cheeks are warm with embarrassment. It was one thing to be on the end of nasty comments from other students, that had never bothered her. Even a reprimand from the vile Shirley Jackson didn’t cause Agatha to feel at all remorseful. Only Father Blackwood could make her feel ashamed.

And now it seemed, Zelda Spellman as well.

But the way Zelda made her feel was different than how Father Blackwood had. With the high priest, Agatha always felt like she if she had erred she was worthless, like she was proving to everyone that he was right and she was not a proper witch. It was a feeling she was long accustomed to.

With Zelda, she feels as if she has slipped. Like her mistakes do not make her any less but that she has brought disappointment. With Zelda, Agatha feels like she can do better and should strive to do so. 

The disappointment is becoming as crushing as the worthlessness these days. And it seems Zelda will not be letting up in her disappointment and disapproval anytime soon. 

She could go back to the cottage. But Agatha isn’t really in the mood for listening to Dorcas screaming praise to the boy she’s wrangled. Agatha huffs at her sister’s sexual escapades and her own embarrassment and decides to head for the greenhouse. She’s not terribly interested in the plants it houses but the warmth it gives off is always settling. She likes to do her course work or read in there when she knows Hilda isn’t around. Although she suspects she won’t get back in the mood for her story for the rest of the night.

She halts rather abruptly as she comes inside. Hilda and Dorcas are in the kitchen. Hilda was making it her mission on top of everything to teach the students who were old enough to cook. Tonight it seems was Dorcas’ turn for a lesson and they look to be preparing some bread and marinating chicken for tomorrow’s dinner. 

It doesn’t seem to be going well. 

“I don’t see the point of this ridiculous task!” Dorcas growls. Hilda sighs heavily, one hand on hip as the other pinches the bridge of her nose.

“One day you are all going to leave the Academy and be out in the world on your own,” Hilda says slowly and Agatha can see her patience is being tested. “You will have to know the basics of cooking or how else will you survive?” 

Dorcas clenches her jaw and shifts her weight in a way Agatha has long known is a way to stop her from stomping her foot. “That’s what magic is for! Why must you trap me here? I want to enjoy the fun outside with everyone else!” She cries. Hilda plants both hands on the island, apparently ready to go a couple of rounds with her sister but then the porch screen rattles against the frame andshe catches sight of Agatha. 

“Agatha?” She questions. Dorcas turns to look at her as well. “What can I do for you?” 

Agatha, still feeling flustered from her interaction with Zelda, finds herself mortified to be seen. More flush creeps up her neck and Agatha gives a little shake of her head and turns back. Her plan to seek shelter in the greenhouse now scrapped, she has no choice but to head for the porch or else she’ll look like an even bigger fool. She doesn’t miss the dirty look Dorcas shoots her for clearly not coming to rescue her from her cooking lesson, and barrels out the backdoor. 

She is only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut behind her while she rounds the corner of the house and collapses in one of the large wicker chairs on the porch.

Agatha opens her book on her lap and pulls out her hidden mortal novel and tosses it to the side on the small table nestled between the two chairs. She already feels ridiculous, there was no chance of enjoying it now. Instead she tries to focus on the text she’d been pretending to read earlier. Studying had always been a good way to take her mind off whatever was bothering her. Agatha can barely focus enough to get past the sentence at the top of the page. The warmth of the kitchen quickly falls from her skin and the evening air feels colder than when she had been outside not five minutes ago. She shudders and curses the air for it’s making her fidgety. She’s always preferred warmer temperatures; when they were girls, her sisters would joke that was why Agatha was the most devilish of them. She was a demon in disguise, always longing for the heat of Hell. 

Distractions aside, Agatha doesn’t get past the first sentence she’s reading because she hears the porch door squeal open. She turns her head, hopeful that Dorcas will come out and ask her what’s wrong. 

But it’s not Dorcas who comes around the corner, it’s Hilda Spellman. 

Agatha turns back to her book and clenches her jaw, incredibly angry at her own stupidity. She should have just gone back to the cottage once she knew Dorcas wasn’t there. 

“Agatha?” Hilda tries and this time it sounds much more concerned than confused. “Is something the matter?” 

“No Sister Hilda,” Agatha lies, “Everything is perfectly fine.” Her tone is rock hard and she betrays herself by letting her gaze fall back to Prudence and Zelda. Hilda follows her and gives a understanding hum. 

“Ah, I see...” Hilda says quietly. She crosses the porch without asking and seats herself in the chair beside Agatha. She looks to her, doing a double take at the book on the table. Agatha snatches it and shoves it down between her thigh and the arm of the chair and stares unblinkingly ahead. Hilda leaves it be and just quietly sits there. Agatha expects her to say something but she doesn’t and it makes Agatha unnerved. If she’s not going to get a talking to then she might as well make an escape. She debates leaving the mortal book behind but she’s already been caught and wants to finish it so she fishes it from the side of the chair and deposits it in her text. 

“It can be a difficult thing, when the people we love start enjoying someone else’s company.” 

Hilda’s even tone freezes Agatha. The young witch looks at her, chin tipped up and tightly says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“It must be especially difficult,” Hilda continues as if she had said nothing, “When you’ve grown up so close to two people and suddenly they want to spend less time with you. It could make a person jealous.” 

“I am not jealous!” Agatha hisses.

“Then what are you my love?” Hilda challenges. For someone usually so soft, Hilda’s gaze is quite piercing.

“I’m-” Agatha sags and fails to come up with the correct word for what she is. Because she  _is_ jealous. And lonely.

“I’m tired.” She says instead.

“I’m sure your sisters will fall in line in no time,” Hilda encourages. Air wheezes out of Agatha in a pathetic excuse for a laugh. 

“Witches are known for long grudges.” The younger witch says bitterly. She blinks rapidly to get rid of the tears that have rudely sprung to her eyes. She hopes Prudence will come back to her. Surely this is not the worst thing they will ever experience in their long lives? And if it is, and they get past it, then nothing else can touch them. But Agatha does so hate waiting to find out.

Hilda laughs in response and her laugh is strong and more genuine than Agatha’s.

“Oh believe me, I am well versed in that!” Hilda’s eyes go to her own sister in the yard. Agatha’s fingers curl around the text on her lap so tightly she thinks her nails might just pierce the leather binding the book. Agatha notices the children have tired and lay on the grass at Zelda and Prudence’s feet. With an arm wrapped around Leticia, she’s telling some tale to the young ones. Prudence is in thrall with her story, listening just as intently as the children.

“Does she hold grudges long?” Agatha’s voice is barely above a whisper. Perhaps that’s because she hadn’t meant to say anything. Hilda’s brow scrunches in confusion.

“Ah, well, I don’t know Prudence that well. Surely you can say better than I?” 

Agatha feels her own face scrunch and the tears are back. Her hands are shaking with the pressure she’s putting on her grip around the book. There’s something about Hilda Spellman the makes her want to confess all her feelings. She faintly wonders if it’s a part of her magic, a magical pull that the woman has cultivated over years. It would be a good way to get answers out of people.

But Agatha suspects not. It seems to merely be a natural quality. A warmth that draws people in, telling them things will be alright. That all who confide in her will find a safe place before them. Agatha is quite unsure whether things will be alright and she could really do with some assurance.

Agatha wishes Prudence wasn’t so mad at her. She had a much better relationship with Zelda and would surely know what to do. Dorcas didn’t care for the high priestess too terribly and therefore wouldn’t have an opinion on what to do.

But seeing as neither sister wants to help, Agatha finds she has no choice. She had told Hilda she was tired, and she was. She turns to look at Hilda, whose confusion melts when she sees Agatha’s distressed face.

“I meant Mother Spellman.” Agatha’s voice cracks and she can’t bear anymore eye contact so she looks down at her shaking hands. “She’s cast me out for all the damage I’ve done.”

“Oh my love,” Hilda awkwardly shuffles her chair so it’s closer to Agatha and reaches for her hand, peeling it off the book and holding it in both her own, rubbing soft circles on the back of her hand. “What happened with the pagans wasn’t your fault.”

Agatha huffs indignantly, “I know it’s not my fault.”

Hilda tilts her head and her eyes shine with understanding. There’s something else there too, and Agatha thinks it just might be compassion. “It’s one thing to say it, it’s another to believe it.” Agatha’s breath hitches in her throat and a single tear rolls free. Hilda reaches up and brushes it away with her knuckle. “Oh lamb,” She sighs. “No matter what lurks in that head of yours, you would not have chosen to hurt your coven like you did. Zelda knows that.”

Now it’s Agatha’s turn to be confused.

“Then why?…” Why the disappointment? Why the withering looks? If it wasn’t about her rampage, why did Zelda despise her? “Is it because I called her a bitch?”

Hilda is confused again and surely she can’t have forgotten that incident but then her eyes go wide and she laughs for a second time and her soothing circles becoming a reassuring pat.

“Oh no dear. Zelda has been called a bitch many times in her life.” Hilda contemplates for a second. “I mean, was she frustrated that Father Blackwood was never called a bitch? Yes, she was.” Hilda waves it off and gives Agatha a soft smile. “But that has more to do double standards than you.”

“Then I don’t understand.” 

Hilda looks over to her sister with sympathetic eyes. The sun was moments from disappearing and any second now Zelda would be gathering the little ones and taking them into the house to bed. Hilda inches in and lowers her voice like she’s revealing some great secret.

“I suspect her issue is that you called her Lady Blackwood.”

“Everything I did, and that’s why she’s angry with me?”

Hilda struggles for a minute, glances back at Zelda. She can’t go and tell Agatha everything about her sister. Not only would that be an incredible betrayal of Zelda’s trust, but the girl sitting before her doesn’t need to know the ghastly details of her High Priestess’ marriage.

Agatha sniffles and turns away to rub a tear out. Zelda’s prickliness can be quite harsh if you’re not used to it and while the weird sisters were not overly close to the Spellmans before, this is the first time her sister’s displeasure is being aimed at Agatha at full blast. Not to mention the ridding of Blackwood and the Dark Lord is leading to a general thaw in the witches of Greendale. A lot of them are getting to experience their emotions more freely for the first time in their lives. All the things they’ve been told to bottle and put aside are being opened and it’s leaving many of the students exposed like raw nerves.

Agatha is clearly struggling with her own emotions and so Hilda must tell her something to settle her.

“Let’s just say that Zelda did not see the evil hiding in Father Blackwood until it was too late.” Agatha’s eyebrows raise and even though tears are still there, her dark eyes become attentive and inquisitive. “She blames herself for not being able to protect the ones she loves.” Hilda is getting close to saying too much so she wraps it up. “Being Lady Blackwood reminds her of that. And she doesn’t like being reminded.”

Agatha feels like there is more to Hilda’s words, but she doesn’t press. She respects the older woman’s loyalty to her sister. And it is nice to know that Zelda’s anger is over something she can take back.

“H-how do I fix it?” Agatha asks. Hilda’s lips pull into a tight little half smile and she squeezes Agatha’s hand.

“I’m afraid my dear,” Hilda sighs, “That may just take a little time. Zelda will cool off. When she does, you can talk to her and she will hear you out.”

Agatha sort of doubted that. But Hilda Spellman was the person to know Zelda the longest, there had to be some truth to her words.

They don’t have time to go into it further because noise in the yard draws their attention. Zelda and Prudence are coming up to the house, children flocking at their sides, grumbling about bedtime. Hilda stands and pulls Agatha with her. She makes sure she has her books and walks her to the stairs. The blonde witch reaches up and gives Agatha’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“Take to heart what I said.” She gives the most subtle of nods back towards her sister and lowers her voice. “And I’ll see what I can do on this end.” With that, she gives Agatha’s back a little rub and sends her on her way. Agatha hurries down the stairs in time to miss the children starting to climb up. She silently makes her way back to the cottage, her books and Hilda’s words tucked tightly against her chest.

Hilda watches her go as her children reach her at the top of the porch. Little Henry is first to greet her and he reaches wordlessly up for her. Hilda leans down and scoops him up, chuckling when the boy tiredly lays his head on her shoulder.

“Has playing tired you out little one?” She murmurs and strokes the hair at the base of his head while Henry tries protesting. It’s half hearted though and looking over the others Hilda can see an evening in the yard has tired them all out. Sybil requires Sabrina’s help up the stairs for she looks like she can barely keep her eyes open and even Felix seems to have no fight in him. 

“Okay my ducklings, up you go. Start changing into your pajamas please.” Hilda bops each child on their head as they go in, ruffling hair and mentally counting off to make sure everyone is accounted for. She doesn’t miss that Zelda has come to stand at her side. Leticia is fussing in her arms - the twins have gone past their twilight and getting them down will be harder tonight - meaning Zelda won’t talk long.

“What was that about with Agatha?” 

Hilda decides not to approach Zelda about Agatha’s concerns just yet. “Nothing much. Just working out when Agatha could take another cooking lesson.”

Zelda sniffs and raises an eyebrow but seems to take Hilda at her word. She shifts Leticia in her arms and heads inside. There’s an immediate exclamation from her sister and Hilda just as quickly recalls she had left Dorcas alone in the kitchen. Rolling her eyes, Hilda heads inside to deal with whatever mess Dorcas has gotten into. 

* * *

Agatha decides that she simply cannot wait for Zelda to come around. Hilda hadn’t given her any suggestions so Agatha spent a few days figuring out ways to make herself more favourable. Loyalty begets loyalty and Zelda Spellman is nothing if not a loyal creature.

She offers to help clean up after casting classes. She volunteers her services to tutor a floundering Mavis Bauer in her spiritualism elective, even though Agatha has no desire to do so. Leo Pulsifer spits a venomous slur behind Zelda’s back and Agatha hexes him right there in the middle of class. That earns her a reprimand but Agatha sees the appraising look in Zelda’s eye and an ever so small upturn of her lips.

A few weeks later Agatha is returning some books to the high priestess’ office for Professor Maycourt. The young witch knocks but no one answers so she peeks her head in and finds the office empty. She places the books on a table by the bookshelf and as she turns to leave notices a chess board over by the couch. Agatha stands very still, ears straining to hear anyone approaching. When she’s met with silence, she walks over to the board.

There is a game in process, the pieces already several moves in. Perhaps Zelda is playing with Mambo Marie. Or maybe she’s playing herself. Whatever the case, Agatha can see the way to setting a win up. Agatha reaches out for the piece but stops herself. She’s not playing with Zelda, not anymore. And she’s already been in her office longer than was appropriate. Agatha sighs as she gazes down at the board. She does miss playing though. Misses the challenge and the conversations.

Why couldn’t Zelda forgive her? The mistake she was being punished for was one she hadn’t even realized she had committed and yet Zelda was acting as if she had indeed murdered the whole coven. Really it was Zelda’s fault this game couldn’t be theirs. She’s the one making things difficult.

Whether it’s a longing to play again or a flash of anger that spurs her on, Agatha can’t say. Her hand is grasping the knight and moving it before she really can think better of it. Of course the piece could simply be moved back and no one would be the wiser, but as Agatha stares at the spot she’s moved the knight, she finds she doesn’t care to. With a little satisfied huff, she spins on her heel and heads back to class.

* * *

She expects to hear about the chess piece but doesn’t. Although it really shouldn’t surprise her. Zelda had no idea she’d been in her office. Maybe she was playing herself and hadn’t touched the board in a while or maybe Marie forgot where her pieces were laid out.

As the day drags on without reprimand, Agatha finds herself becoming increasingly annoyed. She realizes that she wanted Zelda to know it was her.

Agatha doesn’t have the patience to wait out Zelda’s ire. She waits until she knows Zelda is in class and sneaks out of her own studies. She goes to her office and straight to the chess board. One of Zelda’s pieces have been moved in retaliation. She knows it’s Zelda who has moved because she recognizes the response that moving her knight often prompts in the older witch. Not to mention Zelda always preferred playing with the white pieces.

Agatha methodically scans the board, seeing the next several moves playing out in her mind. She debates making a play that Zelda won’t expect but then considering that she she wants Zelda to know it was her, Agatha makes a move in a tactic she has long since loved and that Zelda had seen her execute in several games.

Certain that would get the response she was looking for, Agatha all but skips gleefully out of the office.

* * *

Nothing. 

Agatha fumes in the middle of Zelda’s ancient tongues class. She shifts in her seat, arms crossed not even writing down what’s being taught. Which is a pity really because no one else is going to readily help her if she falls behind on notes and if this game of hers doesn’t work out, Zelda won’t be helping her either. 

Agatha does so hate it when her studies suffer because of her devilish nature. Sometimes she thinks she should change her ways, but always throws that thought away because who would she be without her fiendishness? 

It has only been a day she tries to remind herself. Her high priestess was a busy woman. Agatha runs her tongue over her teeth and leans further back against her chair. The wood creaks with the extra pressure and Zelda glances her way, all the while not pausing in her lecture. 

The older witch raises an eyebrow with a look in her eye that might be a warning. But something sparks in Zelda’s eyes and if Agatha didn’t know better, she would think a challenge was lying there. 

On that inkling, Agatha asks to be excused and Zelda grants her permission. Agatha goes straight the high priestess’ office. 

The pieces have moved again and now Agatha makes her move and returns to class just in time for the class’ dismissal. 

It continues like this for the next few days. Zelda says nothing but the game goes on in silence. By now, Agatha is convinced that Zelda is fully aware of whom she is playing. 

Agatha for her part, becomes more daring in her attempts to make her moves. She starts with slipping out of classes Zelda teaches so she’s sure she won’t be in the office. Then she waits outside the office and strikes when Zelda leaves, risking that she might turn around and come back. Finally, she goes when she pleases, uncaring if she gets caught. 

They pause when Zelda corners Agatha’s remaining pieces and it takes her a whole day to figure out her next move. 

Agatha is enjoying herself. It is energizing to play against Zelda again. She finds that even though she’s sneaking around and out of classes, her coursework is actually improving. Not that it needed to mind you. Agatha’s grades were already as high as they could go but now the quality of her work is growing in leaps and bounds. Challenging herself with Zelda is elevating her mind, letting her think outside on the board bleeds into her spell casting. 

Two more days they play, singular pieces moved more and more meticulously as the game draws to a close. And then Agatha realizes she is going to win. 

She can take the game in four more moves. Agatha stands over the board, suddenly unsure. She’s been playing against Zelda because she missed it. Agatha could see in the after, that maybe she and Zelda would go back to before and Agatha could get the teacher she was looking for. But she hadn’t stopped to consider that in order for there to be an after, that someone would need to win the game. Specifically, that she could win. 

Agatha’s breathing picks up the longer she looks at the board. Things have been better the last week. She’s positive that Zelda has been glaring at her less. It’s not a lot, but Agatha thinks she’s on the right track. But what will happen if she wins the game? Will it be an extra strike against her? Will Zelda be mad and everything set back to square one? 

The young witch tries to get her spiking unease under control. Zelda had never been upset to lose in the past, she assures herself. Agatha reaches for her piece, but hesitates, then curses her hesitation. 

She  _really_ just wants a teacher who wants to teach her. 

Agatha hears noise in the hall. It’s just some students but she realizes she’s been in the high priestess’ office too long. Agatha huffs and plants a hand on either side of the board. She’s lost to Zelda before, this wouldn’t be any different than those times. Zelda will appreciate the win and Agatha will get herself a teacher. It seems like a good enough trade. Before she can question herself, Agatha picks up her piece and moves, essentially ending the game. Just as she had the first day, Agatha spins on her heel and bolts from the office.

* * *

Agatha is a fool.

She’s outside in the school courtyard laying flat on one of the many stone benches littering the gardens. The sky is clear and the day is bright and Agatha resents it. She wishes the sky was covered in clouds so at least the day could match her mood.

She didn’t make the winning move. She had the opportunity and she threw the game to please a woman who was always going to dislike her. Agatha had never thrown a game of chess, not even for Dorcas. Chess was about strategy, of seeing what’s coming ahead and planning for it. She thought it was a waste of her time and brainpower to just botch it all in the last few moves.

And yet she’d done it for Zelda Spellman. What an utter waste.

The sun shines through the treetops in patches, peeking rays making the pale pink peonies glow ethereally. Agatha growls and sits up, done reviewing her idiocy and fed up with her cheerful surroundings. 

Agatha snatches up her knapsack and goes to the library. She slinks effortlessly past the shelves of books until she gets to a corner she’d discovered fifteen years ago. Though no teacher will admit it, Agatha is certain the library is enchanted with an rotating expansive spell. She’s always discovering new books on shelves that seem to come from nowhere and the tables move around, in one place one day and gone the next. Thankfully, this corner spot never fails her and is always where she found it. The spot lies through a narrow opening in two shelves. A small desk is pressed against one of the shelves, with a round coffee table laying low on a navy hand tufted wool rug in the centre with a curved bench built into the wall. The bench is covered in pillows of all shapes and sizes and Agatha drops her bag next to the table and flops into the plush softness. She’s never shown anyone this corner and sometimes Agatha wonders if the library presented it just to her, like it had known she needed a place to call her own.

Agatha fishes around in her bag, intent on reading more about the mortal little women. She’s never been found in her little corner so she doesn’t worry about having to hide the book behind another text. But in another disappointment of the day, Agatha finds she’s left the book at the cottage. She defers to her second choice, an intermediate’s guide to the Russian language.

She reads for about fifteen minutes when there is a distant banging of the library doors. The dark haired witch rolls her eyes; the male witches often flung the doors open carelessly when they came looking for texts. They don’t give the space any proper respect but unless one of them stumbles on her sanctuary, Agatha isn’t in the mood to scold them for it.

“What in Lilith’s name are you doing?!”

Agatha yelps and sits up, pillows tumbling to the floor. The text slips from her hand and clatters to the ground, the sound reverberating loudly in the small space. 

Glaring at her - _wonderful_ , the glare is back - is Zelda Spellman. The high priestess is dressed in a pale blush blouse and tight burgundy pencil skirt and while that should be less intimidating than the suits she wears, Agatha finds it quite the opposite. There’s something deceptive about a blouse and skirt, how if you’re not careful, if you get caught up in the soft colours or if the skirt makes your eyes wander, you’ll miss the powerful woman underneath the clothes and you won’t see her until it’s too late. And by then she’ll be slitting your throat and laughing while she does it.

The crossed arms and irritated expectant look on Zelda’s face doesn’t help matters. To her own embarrassment, Agatha finds herself stumbling to answer.

“I’m learning Russian.” She answers honestly because she doesn’t understand why Zelda is asking and picks up the book to show her teacher.

“What?” Zelda is sounding crosser by the minute.

“I’ve developed an interest in Slavic languages?” Agatha supplies. Zelda sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, taking two quick strides so that she’s standing over Agatha.

“That was not what I was talking about.” Zelda says sternly. “I’m talking about what I just found in my office.”

Agatha’s shoulders slump and she recedes into the couch cushions.

“The chess board was enchanted to alert me when a move had been made,” The auburn witch plants her hands on her hips. “Imagine my surprise when I go to my office and find you haven’t made your winning move but rather made a decision that will cost you the game!” Her voice keeps climbing and honestly Agatha doesn’t know why she’s so angry. Agatha let her win. People like to win, Zelda Spellman more than most. She’s supposed to be happy. Apparently, Zelda isn’t happy with anything Agatha does. 

“And I thought to myself, there is no way that an experienced player like Agatha Night would make that kind of mistake. She’d have to be an idiot to make that mistake. Unless of course she was doing it to appease me. So tell me Agatha, are you an idiot or a doormat?”

Agatha reels back slightly. She’s been called a lot of things and she’s never particularly taken any of it to heart. And no one had ever called her an idiot  _or_ a doormat.

“Why do you care?” Agatha asks and she’s desperate to know.

“Because I am not in the business of raising witches who throw it in simply to please someone else!” Zelda throws her arms up before rapidly smacking the back of her hand against her other palm. “I am trying to teach you how to take what you need in life, not to let people walk all over you.”

Agatha’s breath wheezes out of her in disbelief. “Teach me? That’s what you call teaching?” She’s about to broach into being disrespectful but Agatha doesn’t care. She’s done making an effort for someone who won’t ever care enough about her. “You haven’t taught me anything worthwhile in months!” She doesn’t know why, but Agatha thinks she’s about to cry. That seems to register with Zelda as well, whose anger melts by just a fraction.

But Agatha has always been a spiteful girl and she isn’t going to let a little shock stop her from digging in and slashing away until she sees blood.

“You know, I really wish I had known about your famous grudges before and known how much it was going to cost me because I would’ve-” Agatha gasps and flings her hands in front of her face. Her breath shudders and oh dear Lilith she  _is_ going to cry.

Witches don’t cry and certainly not in front of others and so the young witch gives her head a little shake and presses her palms into her eyes willing the wetness against her skin to go away. She clenches her teeth tight but it doesn’t stop a feeble sob from leaking out. She feels the couch beside her sink, there’s a heavy sigh and for a moment Agatha can feel the heat of a hand hovering over her shoulder. The hand retracts and Agatha forcefully rubs her hands from her eyes once she is assured they’ve stopped leaking. She turns and glares at Zelda who is looking her over regretfully. The older witch looks away and down at her hands. She clears her throat.

“Look...I know that-” Zelda mutters, stops and tries again. “Hilda says I can be a bully sometimes.” The high priestess closes her eyes. Her nose scrunches and her jaw tightens and it’s like it’s physically hard for her to say what she does next. “And I know she’s not wrong.”

Witches don’t cry and witches don’t ever admit when they are wrong. It disturbs Agatha to see the head of their coven even imply that she is wrong. The more Agatha thinks about it the more she realizes she’s never known any adult to apologize. Hilda Spellman maybe. But Hilda has never had her head screwed on right in Agatha’s opinion.

Having never been in this position, Agatha doesn’t know if she’s supposed say something now. She just stares warily at Zelda. Mother Spellman glances back at Agatha from the corner of her eye and the younger witch realizes that her teacher also doesn’t know what’s supposed to happen next. Agatha debates saying something about calling her Lady Blackwood. Not an apology of course, but something adjacent to it. But then Agatha remembers that Hilda had shared that little bit of information in private and while she loved sharing others secrets, perhaps this situation called for a little more discretion.

“I didn’t realize the chess game was meant to be a lesson.” She says instead after several long minutes of awkward silence.

Zelda snorts delicately. “Every game of chess is a lesson, it requires strategy and foresight.” Her tone is back with it’s usual bite and when Agatha looks away ashamed, Zelda sighs.

“Don’t ever make yourself small for anyone, not even me.” Agatha opens her mouth to object but Zelda holds her off with a raise of her hand. “You do it now and it’s okay because it’s just a game. But then you do it again and again and pretty soon you don’t even realize you’re doing it.” Zelda’s eyes seem very far away and Agatha wonders if she’s thinking about Father Blackwood. Their relationship had never seemed out of sorts to Agatha. When Zelda came back from her honeymoon all in rose petals and frills, that was disconcerting. But she never thought too deeply about it.

Perhaps she should have.

Faustus Blackwood was a cruel man, even by witching standards. But he was incredibly composed, charming, and well loved in their community. It shouldn’t be so, but those qualities seemed to eclipse the cruelty, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

Agatha doesn’t want to grant forgiveness to Zelda’s actions towards her. She wants to stay angry, to hold a grudge of her own as long as her heart will allow. She wants to tell her high priestess that she’s supposed to be an adult, to be their leader, and that she has to do better.

Zelda has shifted slightly, no longer looking at Agatha from the side but rather head on. She does appear a bit contrite. Agatha fiddles with the lace on her wrist and tosses her options back and forth in her head.

Zelda had done a awful job at it, but she was trying to teach Agatha something. If she walked away now, this opening would be gone forever. The young witch looks back to her professor. The contrition falls away from Zelda’s features and her face grows serious, shoulders settling stiff.

“I will not give up on our next game,” Agatha says slowly, voice pitching hopeful. Zelda’s lips curls into a satisfied smile and she gives an acquiescing nod.

“Good.”

They sit there a moment more, Zelda looking like perhaps she has more to say but for whatever reason she stays silent. It grows awkward very quickly and so the older witch stands and smoothes out her skirt. Zelda gives Agatha an off hand note about Slavic languages being interesting to learn and promptly exits, leaving Agatha wondering for a minute if the entire exchange actually happened. 

* * *

She’s invited to dinner at the Spellman house that night which Agatha suspects it is more Hilda’s suggestion than anything else. She goes nonetheless, if only to enjoy a change in her routine.

Agatha is stepping through the back door, this time without being in a frazzled rush but stops when she hears a familiar complaint.

“You mean I have to keep learning this?” Dorcas cries.

“Yes dear, that’s how you build skills; you have to practice.”

Hilda isn’t put much effort into her argument. It’s probably not the first time they’ve had this exact discussion and it won’t be the last.

“You are ruining my social life.” Dorcas declares, arms crossed. She’s stiff and adamant and Agatha thinks she’s being far too dramatic but some of the students hadn’t taken as nicely to proper adult supervision and felt every effort to round them out was taking away their freedom.

Hilda doesn’t seem too concerned for Dorcas’ crumbling social life and shrugs as she mixes salad dressing.

“I doubt the world will suffer for it.” Agatha pipes up, coming to the kitchen witch’s defence. Dorcas groans and this time around does stomp her foot a little before marching out of the kitchen. She glowers at Agatha who gives her a small half hearted smile.

“I will see on Thursday, quarter past four!” Hilda calls after the angry witch. “Don’t be late or I’ll add two extra lessons just for fun!” That earns her another disgruntled cry from Dorcas who takes off towards the woods. Hilda chuckles and pops the dressing in the fridge for safekeeping.

“Agatha,” Hilda says warmly and smiles. “Welcome, come on in.” Agatha toes off her shoes and walks cautiously into the kitchen. Aside from hiding out in the greenhouse, she’s only really been in the mortuary when other students were there. She’s never been invited to dinner just on her own she’s only just realizing, which makes her a little anxious. And while technically Prudence will also be at dinner, they’re still not on the best of terms so Agatha feels like she’s flying solo.

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Hilda says over her shoulder as she checks on what she has in the oven. Delicious aromas come wafting from the oven and Agatha finds herself leaning heavily into the island, trying to take in as much as she can and seeing if she can spot what the younger Spellman sister is cooking. Hilda closes it up and wipes her hands on her apron.

“Why don’t you follow me to the greenhouse?” Hilda offers. “I need some ingredients for the salad.”

Agatha shrugs and follows her in. Her eyes briefly drift shut at the pleasant heat. When she opens them again Hilda is tinkering in the back with some plants that Agatha knows are definitely not suitable for a salad. Unless of course you’re looking to kill someone.

Hilda, who by all accounts is gentle and subtle, gets right to it.

“So you and Zelda made up?” She asks, checking on a rather carnivorous venus fly trap. Agatha busies herself with something that looks like a marigold and orchid hybrid.

“If you want to call it that,” Agatha mutters. The flower’s colours are stunning but Agatha is careful not to touch because as much as she believes Hilda would have a labelling system for poisonous plants, she sees no outright indicators so she keeps her hands to herself. She glances casually over at Hilda, whose lips are pressed in a tight line. She shakes her head and huffs. 

“I told Zelda-” She starts.

“She made an effort.” Agatha assures. “I don’t think she totally hates me.”

Hilda looks as if she wants to refute part of what Agatha said but let’s it go and points to where she can find the green onions. Agatha goes over and gently pulls a few from the earth.

“You look better.” Hilda muses. Agatha turns to see the kitchen witch looking her over, eyes roaming the space around her. She reading Agatha’s magic. Agatha hasn’t learned to read magic yet but it’s on her to do list right under learning Slavic languages and brushing up on her first aid training.

Seeing the magic requires a special touch and most witches don’t learn how to read it until their late eighties. Agatha knows how her own magic moves, what comes naturally and what does not. She is proud of the dark purple her magic has developed into and is eager to see how the second tone settles. She thinks it will be a blue shade but it sparks and shifts almost daily.

Agatha can’t read Hilda Spellman’s magic although she suspects earthy tones. Nothing else would really fit. The young witch glances down at her hands full of onions and notes her magic moving more calmly than it had the last few weeks.

“I think I am.” The younger witch says in a very small voice. It’s mostly to herself; she doesn’t like the idea of admitting such vulnerability to anyone.

Hilda is suddenly standing in front of her and she has this sweet, hopeful look on her face that makes Agatha slightly nauseous.

“I’d like to give you a hug now,” Hilda says gently. Agatha’s face twists in confusion but she feels her head moving to give her consent. Hilda reaches for her shoulders and the next thing Agatha knows, she being wrapped in a hug. Agatha stands there, stiff as a board, not really sure what to do. The younger witch isn’t an idiot, she’s been hugged before. But it’s usually Prudence or Dorcas. Agatha can’t remember the last time an adult engaged with her in this way. And she can’t remember the last time she was hugged in a way that felt so all encompassing.

It’s the same feeling Agatha had experienced out on the porch; this reassurance that things will be alright. Agatha realizes she’s just gained herself a confidant should she chose to use it. That thought warms something deep in her chest and combined with Hilda’s arms snugly wrapped around her, the young witch’s frozen limbs thaw and she circles her arms around Hilda’s waist. She rests her head against the kitchen witch’s shoulder but before she can get too comfortable, Hilda pulls away and the moment is over.

“Hilda!” Zelda’s strong voice calls out. Hilda is already at the door before Agatha realizes she’s still rooted to the spot next to the onions. She’s starting to get fed up with herself and her complete lack of brain function when presented with a one on one situation with either of Spellman sisters. Agatha almost preferred Father Blackwood’s cold, emotionless teachings. Having feelings and letting them run through her and take root was far too taxing for Agatha’s liking.

By the time she emerges from the greenhouse, Hilda has gathered everything else she needs and is chopping away.

“-and honestly, I think Desmelda is this close to lighting the entire forest on fire.”

Zelda is standing in the kitchen with her sister, one hip pressed against the island while the other supports Roland who is chewing on a teething ring. She’s changed from her deadly skirt and blouse combo into a cream coloured cotton long sleeved shirt and a simple set of slacks.

Agatha, done with being stumbling idiot in the face of her teacher, steps forward to the island and hands the green onions over to Hilda.

“Ah Agatha,” Zelda greets, adjusting Roland. “I’m glad you’re here.” She moves and deposits the baby in a high chair. “I remembered this afternoon how you were said that you were interested in stabilizing techniques for your seance sessions.” Zelda rounds the island and comes stands in front of Agatha. But once she’s in front of her, Zelda loses a bit of steam. It seems that Agatha is not the only one stumbling. That’s what happens when you admit you’re wrong to another witch; it leaves you with a vulnerable spot only they know.

Zelda puts one hand on her hip and the other rubs her chin. “I brought some books from our library on the subject. I put them in the study.” Agatha looks at her high priestess expectantly. Hilda stops chopping and watches the pair. Zelda shoots a quick glare at her sister and clears her throat. “If you’d like, I could show you the techniques I’ve found to be particularly helpful.”

Zelda’s memory comes from months ago, before the pagans and the Dark Lord’s beetle. Agatha has since looked into stabilizing techniques and found her own solutions. But she had wanted a teacher and Zelda is making an effort to put things more on track. So instead of making a snarky remark to the fact, Agatha smiles and says,

“I’d love that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a look at Zelda from the perspective of someone who isn’t related to her. Because I think we as the audience feel for her and understand her (as does her family) and that makes her more excusable. But she can be mean and so I wanted show how someone else would feel about it. And I kind of fell in love with making Agatha a spiteful but practical character who values intelligence. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
